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Chapter Text

An icy breeze blew through the empty streets, gently ruffling the onyx hair of the Flame Alchemist. The man stayed perfectly still, his soft breathing the only sound emanating from his motionless form. His fingers were at the ready, prepared to snap at any moment and deliver his signature flames.

Crouched down at the entrance to an alleyway, he waited, one black booted foot positioned underneath him and making an impression in one of the many small composites of un-melted snow around the edges of the surrounding buildings. His other foot was upright before him with his arm draped across the knee. He readjusted his fingers, still ready to snap. His breaths formed puffs of steam that floated up to engulf his face before quickly dissipating.

He hoped it would warm up soon.

His muscles were threatening to cramp. Roy really hoped it would warm up soon; it had been far too cold recently for his liking. Spring was already here and yet, they were still experiencing the occasional dusting of snow.

At the moment, he—along with several other officers—happened to be in the middle of hunting a rogue alchemist. The Sleeping Alchemist, to be exact. And, although Roy's squadron had made numerous cracks on the docility of the title, they had begun to despise the elusive man. They had all been out in this chilly weather for hours, waiting.

Just waiting.

Waiting and watching for their prey to inevitably stumble into their trap.

"Stop, thief!" a woman's voice called. Mustang's ears pricked at the sudden demand.

He looked up to see a short form dashing away from a bakery. The figure was of a child cloaked in a long, red coat, a small paper bag visible under their arm. The kid glanced back at the shopkeeper bellowing from outside her store. Before vanishing, however, Roy caught a glimpse of the kid's face. Black eyes locked with golden ones peeking out from underneath the red hood. The golden pair swept over the officer's hunched form, taking him in.

Then the child disappeared.

Had he not been preoccupied with his current mission, Roy might have tried to aid the shopkeeper. But as it was, he had other matters to attend to. Namely, to apprehend the Sleeping Alchemist.

He sat there for a while longer, trying to keep himself from becoming lost in thought.

If only it weren't so blasted cold…

"Sir!"

Mustang jumped and swore, smacking his head into the stone wall beside him. He rubbed at it and winced as he turned to face Riza Hawkeye, who stood at attention.

"Yes?" he responded with irritation.

"We've captured the Sleeping Alchemist, sir. You are relieved of your post."

"Thank you, Hawkeye," Roy said, stiffly rising from his crouch. When the blonde remained rigid, the older man sighed. "At ease, Lieutenant." The woman obediently relaxed. "Well, that's one fewer criminal out on the streets," Roy surmised.

Hawkeye smiled a little. She followed as he began walking.

"Yo, Roy!" a familiar voice called. Mustang looked up to see Hughes striding toward him, waving one hand in the air in greeting, a grin plastered on his face. "You'll never guess who we just bagged!"

Mustang smirked. "Let me guess… The Sleeping Alchemist?"

Hughes feigned being impressed. "You're just too sharp for me, aren't you?" He laughed heartily. "Sure was hard to catch, but he's living up to his name now, what with that concussion Hawkeye gave him." He winked at the woman.

Riza bit back a chuckle at the men's friendly banter. It was to be expected after hours of tension. "Colonel," she began, "I was wondering–" but she was cut off as a figure abruptly bumbled into her superior.

"Oof! What the–? Whoa, whoa, there. Careful. What's the big rush?" Roy addressed the boy he had just grabbed by the shoulders. The boy stared up at the black haired man he had just knocked into with large eyes, which were a grayish mix of green and gold. The boy appeared to be around twelve or thirteen years old with hair the color of dark goldenrod. He wore a black hooded jacket.

"Oh, um…" The child swallowed, seeming a little nervous. "I was just…um wondering if you could tell me how to get to the bakery?"

"Right over there," Riza instructed helpfully, turning and pointing toward the building they had just passed. "Sir!" she exclaimed suddenly. She lunged behind her superior in a vain attempt to nab the second boy she had just noticed—the boy who was now stealing Mustang's silver pocket watch!

Roy spun around, catching a glimpse of golden-blond hair before the second boy dashed around him. Two children's figures—one red and one black—raced away from the pair of military officers.

"Pickpockets!" Roy snarled, enraged, and instantly took off after the kids, Hawkeye quick to follow. They wouldn't get away with this: trying to steal a State Alchemist's pocket watch. "Hughes!" he bellowed to the man who was still a fair distance away and also in the children's path, "Catch them; they're thieves!"

They definitely wouldn't get away with this.

Roy wouldn't let them.

Chapter Text

Edward scrambled out of the bakery, his recently acquired prize—which was tucked snugly under his arm—bringing a small amount of warmth to his otherwise cold side. He shot a quick look over his shoulder at the irate owner, who was waving her pudgy fist at him, demanding that he stop.

As if.

He wasn't about to give up the food he had just stolen, not on his life.

As he turned his attention back to his escape, he noticed someone watching him. He saw a man who was kneeling by an alleyway. The guy was dressed in an Amestris blue military uniform, hair matching his obsidian eyes. There was a glint of silver at his hip.

And then, Ed was hurrying down a street, turning left and right so as to prevent the portly shopkeeper from following him. Not that she would; she seemed much too large for a chase down backstreets. Nevertheless, Edward wasn't taking any chances.

So he ducked this way and that, scrambling behind dumpsters and gradually looping back around to where he had planned to meet back up with Al. But, just as he was rounding a corner, the tickle in the back of his throat worsened, causing him to cough roughly. He managed a few more steps before he was brought to his knees, harsh coughs racking his young frame. He doubled over, clasping a hand to his mouth in a vain attempt to still his lungs.

At last, after a few minutes, he could finally breathe regularly again. Ed dizzily leaned his now-sweaty forehead against the brick wall of the building beside him, trying to quell the adrenaline-induced nausea that his coughs had only worsened. He bit back a groan as he slouched there, panting.

He knew he probably was coming down with something. Alphonse knew it, too. In spite of this, the younger brother usually avoided confronting the older about it; Ed would only deny the accusation. And it wasn't like Alphonse could do anything to aid his brother, anyway. Ed was the one who supplied their meals most of the time; he was the older and it was his responsibility as such.

Resisting the urge to sit there and rest for a while longer, Edward rose to his feet—albeit, a bit unsteadily—and continued on his way.

He finally came to the hideout he and Al had preordained. He tried to whistle, failed and coughed, then tried again. A familiar copper haired head popped up, eyes alert. Wearily, the blond raised the paper bag in the air, presenting it to his little brother.

The brown bag was snatched away eagerly as the honey-brown haired boy squatted down on the ground, reaching his hand into it. Edward chuckled hoarsely and knelt down next to Alphonse, who looked concernedly at the blond upon hearing the condition of his throat.

"Brother…?" he asked.

But Ed shrugged it off, raising Al's hood up to cover his head once more before saying, "Eat up."

The younger boy complied eagerly. He bit into a steaming roll, closing his eyes in ecstasy and savoring its warmth and flavor. His bright eyes opened to gaze thankfully at his sibling.

A frown grew upon his face when he noticed that Ed wasn't eating, however. "What's wrong, Brother?"

"Huh? Oh, nothin', Al," Edward said and shrugged his shoulders. He fingered the frayed edge of his red coat. "Just not very hungry right now, that's all."

"But, Ed… You're—we're—always hungry. What's wrong? Are you sick?" He reached out a hand to feel his brother's brow, but the other pulled away.

"I said I was fine, Al. Just drop it, will you?" The blond quickly erased his scowl and put on a soft smile instead. He even took a small corner of the bread and nibbled on it. "Hey, but if you're that worried, I know of something that might mean no more lurking around the stores, waiting for the owners to be distracted, just to get some food. Besides, we won't be able to get near that bakery again for another few months; that old hag sure was mad. So, what d'you say?"

"Sure!" came the expected response. "How do you mean, though?"

"Well, when I was coming back here, I caught a glimpse of some dude sitting at the edge of an alleyway."

"So?" Al took another bite of the bread that he held in his hands.

"He had a pocket watch…a silver pocket watch. Meaning that he was a State Alchemist. You know how much we could get for something like that?"

"Do you think he's still there?" asked Al excitedly.

"Prob'ly," replied Ed confidently. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to produce some warmth. He breathed into his cupped palms, pausing to clear his throat. "So, you wanna give it a shot?"

Al's answer was of him jumping to his feet and stuffing the last bite of the roll into his mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing.

"Then c'mon, lets go. The guy won't stick around forever."

The blond teenager led the copper haired one through a route—much quicker than the evasive one he had taken in his escape—to the place where the black haired man had last been seen.

Ed stopped his brother just before they stepped onto the main road. "Shh…" he shushed. They heard voices approaching from their right. A man was chatting with another man far off to their left. Edward gave his brother a hand signal before slipping into the shadows.

A woman's voice broke in, "Colonel, I was wondering–" The little boy chose that moment to jump in, pretending to accidentally bump into the man.

"Oof! What the–? Whoa, whoa, there. Careful. What's the big rush?"

Alphonse gazed up at him, getting what he was going to say straight in his mind. "Oh, um…" Al swallowed, and slipped into his role. He could see Edward sneaking around behind the man to get at the pocket watch. "I was just…" Where should he say he was looking for? He felt his stomach silently growl with hunger and said the first thing that came to his head, "um wondering if you could tell me how to get to the bakery?"

A blonde woman standing beside the man whom he was addressing smiled in a motherly way. "Right over there," she offered, turning to point in the direction. But her eyes immediately caught sight of the second newcomer. "Sir!" Edward pocketed his prize quickly before skirting around the couple and grabbing Al's arm, pulling him along.

The boys could hear the black haired guy swear before muttering something that sounded something like "trick lockets". Then he shouted after the boys, "Hughes! Catch them; they're thieves!"

Alphonse looked up ahead to see another black haired man, also dressed in a military uniform, but a bit taller than the first. The guy wore narrow, rectangular glasses.

Edward, too, saw the second man, whom they were quickly approaching. Without a second thought, he shoved his little brother into an alley. "Go!" he ordered, still running. "We'll meet up again, same place!" Then Ed dove down a different alley.

Al ran.

Chapter Text

Alphonse Elric dashed down one of the many side streets, panting from exertion. He could hear the clop of boots hitting pavement behind him.

He turned a corner, pressing his hands against a wall to keep himself upright. Everything would be fine, provided he managed to escape these people. He and Ed could sell that watch for a great price and they'd actually be able to purchase food, versus always having to steal it.

"Get back here!" the man, from whom they'd just stolen the watch, shouted furiously. The order, however, did nothing to slow the boy's pace and, in fact, had the opposite effect. He briefly stumbled over his too-large shoes, falling and skinning up his knees where holes had worn through his pants. He gasped at the shock of the pain but quickly righted himself and ran harder.

Alphonse looked back.

The first man was in hot pursuit, gaining rapidly. The second man was nowhere in sight and neither was the woman. So they weren't problems, but this white-gloved guy certainly was.

Seeing an opportunity, Al hastily leapt onto a metal ladder that hung over the edge of one of the shops. He scaled it with the agility that only came with constant repetition. Once at the top, the boy spared a moment to look back down at his pursuer.

A yelp shot out of his throat as he saw the man directly below him and simultaneously felt something grab onto his ankle. He promptly dropped to all fours—or, three, as it would be—and kicked his leg around, trying to dislodge the iron grip.

The white-gloved man was rapidly scaling the remaining cold rungs on the ladder, getting a better hold on the honey-brown haired kid's boot.

Al felt his heart leap into his throat. Was this it? Was he really about to be caught?

What about Ed? No matter how stubborn the blond insisted on being, he still needed someone to look out for him. And how would he react to his baby brother being captured?

No, no! He wouldn't let that happen!

They needed each other; Al couldn't survive without Edward anymore than Ed could survive without Alphonse.

With a last valiant effort, the child kicked as hard as he could, twisting his leg around. He felt a twinge of pain. His boot slid off, leaving him half-barefooted. Though, he didn't feel the sharp jolt until he scrambled to his feet and took off again.

He tried to wipe the involuntary tears from his face, telling himself that Ed had surely suffered far worse, even as more formed in the corners of his eyes with each new step.

A sob escaped him.

He stumbled to the edge of the roof and clumsily leaped across. Another cry tore free of his throat as he landed awkwardly, jarring his ankle. Al knew he was in trouble; he was injured and his soon-to-be captor was gaining on him. He was going to get caught. His heart thudded in his chest harder and harder as he shoved himself to his feet for what felt like the hundredth time. The anguished tears were coming freely now, making it a little harder to see clearly.

He was just a kid. He wanted—needed—his brother. But he wouldn't let that stop him.

Alphonse free-fell from the next roof's edge, tucking in and rolling as he landed in the smelly dumpster below. Popping up, he continued on his desperate way, trusting that everything would be okay if only he could find Edward.

The other Elric was having his own problems. Whatever had been bothering his system had decided that it wasn't going to hold back during the chase. Once again, he fell sideways, overcome with dizziness. Ed surely would have been caught by now had it not been for the fact that he seemed to have lost the man—the taller one wearing the glasses—who was chasing him.

Good thing, too, because he was going nowhere fast.

He hunched over, covering his mouth with a fisted hand, fingers freezing. The coughs were harsh, his throat raw and burning. A heavy throb pounded in the back of his skull.

But he had to keep going.

He stiffly staggered forward, one hand held protectively over his lurching stomach; he couldn't afford to lose that little sustenance he had.

Glancing blearily around him, Edward brought his thoughts back to Al.

Alphonse…

He had to get back to him. He couldn't leave his little brother, not alone. Not with these people around.

But where was he? How could he get back? Back to Al, his brother and only family.

With a frustrated grunt, the teen trudged along, breathing shallowly. Suddenly, there were footsteps nearby. Edward flattened himself against a wall, trying to quiet his raspy breathing. When whoever it was had passed, Ed let out a relieved breath and wiped his nose wearily. It was then that he noticed the smudge of red across his fingers. He stared at it, blinking owlishly. Turning his palm over, he beheld a long gash running across the back of his hand and oozing blood. He swore angrily; now he'd have to find some way to disinfect the cut. That would mean stealing some medical supplies. Though, maybe now with their new and valuable possession, he and Al could actually purchase some legally.

He couldn't hold back the small smile at that particular thought: both boys going to a store and waiting while their purchases were bagged for them, bidding farewell to the shopkeeper on their way out the door.

That was the type of life he wanted his little brother to have. And he would give it to him.

Even if it meant stealing things like the watch that was currently residing in his coat pocket.

Muscles aching, Edward rounded the next corner, only to find the muzzle of a gun pointed right at his face. His heart dropped and his breath caught in his throat as he swallowed. His eyes roamed up to the stern female face owned by the wielder of the weapon. It was framed by blonde hair pulled back behind her head. Hazel eyes glared at him while her lips spread into a small, self-satisfied smirk.

Crap.

Chapter Text

Roy's feet smacked the ground as he closed in on the black-jacketed boy. The kid was stumbling along, shooting desperate glances over his shoulder. Roy didn't know what relation this boy had to the one who had stolen his watch, but he hoped that catching him might lead them to the other.

He leaped over a bundle of rubbish on the ground and stretched out his arm. His fingers barely brushed the boy's jacket. A startled gasp escaped his quarry and, as the head whipped around, Roy saw a tear-streaked face gazing at him in terror.

The next bend in the complex alleyways was taken without caution. The dark goldenrod haired boy slammed into the wall and shoved himself off, scrabbling at the air with his hands as he lost his balance, breathing in short gasps.

Roy's white-gloved hand latched onto the frayed hem of the child's jacket.

"No!" The yells were desperate, punctuated with sobs. "No, no-o-o-o! No! Brother! No-o-o, please!" Mustang wrapped his arms around the boy as he tackled him, landing on the hard ground with a muted thud. "Lemmie go-o-o-o! Brother!"

Adjusting his glasses, Hughes cautiously peered around the corner…then sighed. There stood Hawkeye, pistol pointed directly between the eyes of a pale youth. The boy was breathing rapidly and looked ready to pass out.

Lowering his guard, Maes strode forward silently. Slight concern tugged at his heart when he saw the sweaty flush to the kid's cheeks despite the cold weather. Then the boy swayed slightly and readjusted his balance.

Once there, Maes stood alongside Hawkeye, facing the blond boy. The lieutenant colonel gently placed his hand on Riza's arm, coaxing her to lower the weapon.

"Sir…" she protested softly, but obeyed.

"I can handle him. You go and see if Roy needs any help."

Riza glanced between two males, clearly unsure. But then Hughes gave her a reassuring smile. Hawkeye gave a sharp nod and jogged off. Hughes knew perfectly well that she didn't want to be away from the colonel for too long.

When she had left, Maes squatted down in order to be eye-to-eye with the young teenager, who looked even whiter than before, if not a little green. He held out his palm expectantly, the way he always did when his two year-old daughter took something she didn't need to have and he asked for it to be returned. "I think you should give that back," he suggested in a calm voice.

Thin, trembling fingers quickly strayed protectively to a side pocket of the tattered jacket the boy was wearing as golden eyes narrowed at the man before him. The kid started to snarl rebelliously but the sound caught in his throat and he winced, hunching over and hacking into his hand.

Hughes reached out to steady him, but the blond boy stumbled backward to avoid the contact, coughing harder.

The teen glanced up, looking like a trapped animal and backed up more. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Hughes suddenly reached out to grab his arm, but too late. The teen had already spun around and taken off.

Maes jumped to his feet, swearing, and ran after him. This was getting ridiculous. The thief was practically falling over himself coughing and the man quickly caught his quarry, but the kid wouldn't give up easily. He wasted no time in driving his fist into the face of his captor, snarling yet again. Maes momentarily let go of the struggling teenager, who scrambled away, not getting very far. When Hughes looked up, the blond was on his hands and knees gasping for breath.

The lieutenant colonel strode over. The teen shifted and crawled backward shakily.

Maes stopped. The other kept moving, golden orbs glaring out at him from under the red hood.

Again, Maes walked forward and the thief quickened his retreat, appearing slightly frightened. But Hughes just kept coming. The kid scrambled back as fast as he could but couldn't outdistance the man before he grabbed onto his sleeve.

And like that, the younger was struggling like a madman. Hughes quickly wrapped his strong arms around the boy, refusing to relinquish even as he kicked and swore, demanding to be let go. He held on tightly until his captive's thrashing diminished and he was once more choking on ragged coughs.

Watching him, Maes couldn't hold onto his anger, not when the teen was so obviously sick. Instead, he loosened his hold and sat on his heels, patting the kid's back. He was confident that he wouldn't try to escape again. However, the act of kindness was not taken well and the hand was roughly shoved away…only to return again. On the third try, the teenager let it reside there, too engulfed in breathing through the chilling breeze.

Looking dizzy, the boy leaned his head down a little more, puffing before a slight whimper escaped his lips. Then a pained groan. "Uugh…no…" He tentatively wrapped an arm around his middle, suddenly letting out a gag. He swallowed convulsively and gagged again, harder. "No, no…"

Hughes felt his heart constrict as he realized what was wrong: for the teen, every bit of nourishment mattered and it would be a horrible waste to throw it back up. But he couldn't do anything about it.

The blond moaned in discomfort, breathing through his nose, lips pressed tightly together. Hughes moved his hand in soothing circles, occasionally rubbing his thumb between the youth's shoulder blades.

"Come on, now…" he coaxed as he felt the boy's back tense up, "you're just gonna make yourself feel worse if you keep this up." It occurred to Hughes that the teenager might not really appreciate his captor's advice at the moment—why would he want a military officer, who had just chased him down, to comfort him?—but as the child's breathing abruptly quickened and he whimpered urgently, the man didn't honestly care, fatherly instincts kicking in. "Go on, you'll feel better afterward."

"Sh–shut u–" The young pickpocket lurched forward as he finally lost control of his churning stomach and threw up on the ground. He took in a gasping breath before retching again.

Maes shushed the miserable teen, reminded all too much of the case of the stomach bug his little Elicia had suffered through just last month. He continued rubbing and murmuring, "That's it, let it all out. There you go…"

But the blond had nothing left to throw up, the first couple of heaves having completely emptied his stomach of its meager contents. He was reduced to a shivering figure, hunched over and dry heaving while a man of the state stroked his back.

After another several minutes, he was finished, collapsing sideways, not even aware of whom he was leaning on. He feebly wiped his sleeve across his mouth and gazed blearily up at the face hovering above his own.

"Now," Maes said, retaining a bit of his fatherly demeanor, but also slipping on the austerity expected from his rank, "I think you have some explaining to do." He held out the pocket watch that he'd managed to slide out when the boy had been sick. "And I have a suspicion that you're gonna find yourself in a bit of trouble for this."

Those were the last words spoken between the two of them before the blond sighed jadedly and passed out.

Chapter Text

His captive struggled, thrashing about like a fish, even going so far as to claw at Mustang's face.

Exasperated, Roy maneuvered around so that he had the goldenrod haired boy's arms pinned above his head. The boy, in turn, struck out with his feet, only to have more tears well up in his large eyes as his feet smacked against Roy's chest.

The man stared down at the child pinned beneath him. The young pickpocket's eyes, still leaking tears, were squeezed shut. His face was turned to the side and his jaw was clenched tightly. After a moment, Roy became aware of the tremors racking the small figure.

"Hey, breathe," he suddenly instructed, an echo of concern lacing his voice. The boy was, in fact, breathing; hyperventilating to be precise. An almost-constant stream of foggy air flew from the small, pink lips. "Breathe," he ordered again. His captive may be a thief, but he was also a little boy and Hawkeye wouldn't take too kindly to Roy causing the youngster avoidable harm.

At the second command, one of the grayish olive-green colored eyes hesitantly peeked open, but quickly snapped shut and the kid tensed. However, the breathing did even out slightly.

"What's your name?"

Roy's captive closed his lips and shook his head fiercely.

"Colonel?"

Both heads turned around to look at the woman who had just approached them. Riza seemed nonplussed at what she saw before her: her superior officer pinning one of the clearly distressed pickpockets and looking ready to snap.

Literally.

"Hawkeye, did you and Hughes manage to snag the other one?" Roy asked, calming a little.

Nodding her head in the affirmative, Riza answered, "Yes, sir. I came to see if I could be of any assistance. But I see you've got everything…" she paused, looking at the trapped child, "under control. …Is that really necessary, sir?"

"You'd be surprised. He's as nimble as a cat. Has nails like one, too," the man said, referring to the couple of scratches on his face. "So, where is Hughes now?"

"He might be back at the car. I left him right after catching the other boy, so it–"

"Brother!" the kid suddenly exclaimed in despair. Both officers looked down to the helpless boy, whose face was scrunching up again, tears pooling at the outer corners of his eyes.

Roy saw defeat in the pickpocket's eyes as he asked, "So, he's your brother, is he?"

The boy turned his face away slightly in surrender, relaxing his muscles and closing his eyes as tears trailed down his dirty face. "Pl–please, don't hurt him; d–don't hu–hurt us. I wanna s–see my brother. I want Brother…" He was trembling and biting his bottom lip.

Riza knelt down next to them, calmly assuring, "We're not going to hurt either of you, but your brother did steal from us, and the military doesn't take too kindly to thievery."

"Plea–ease, I just want my brother."

Hawkeye sent a meaningful glance to Mustang. "Sir?" The word was of polite request. She looked down at the dirty and clearly exhausted boy. Even Mustang could see how miserable and stressed the child had become.

With a resigned sigh, Roy finally released his hold on the small thief and sat back. "Let's just take him and meet back up with Hughes. We can decide what to do then."

Riza reached into her pocket. "May I assume we'll not be requesting any police assistance in this matter?" She went around behind the despondent boy and raised him by his shoulders into a sitting position. After pulling his arms around behind him, she promptly handcuffed his wrists—it was protocol, after all.

"Why would we? We don't need to bother them with such a trivial thing," Roy answered, rising to his feet. He and Riza both knew, however, that what he actually meant was that the colonel would really rather not have to go through the embarrassment of explaining how he'd had his State Alchemist pocket watch stolen by a pair of street urchins. That was something he would honestly prefer to steer clear of if he possibly could.

And since he apparently could, he would.

Hawkeye nudged her captive, indicating for him to get up. He didn't. "Come on, stand up."

Hanging his head, the boy hesitantly whispered, "I–I hurt my ankle." As if to exemplify, he delicately spread both hands across the grubby ankle in question, like he might be able to protect it that way.

The blonde reached around to examine said injury, but the boy's hands shielding it made the task impossible. Still, she could glimpse a bit of swelling. "Will you let me look at it?" she asked, placing her palm on the small, interwoven fingers. He shook his head wordlessly.

Mustang shifted impatiently. "C'mon, we can deal with this later. Let's just get back. It's freezing out here." He illustrated by rubbing his hands up and down his arms rapidly. "Here, I'll carry the kid if you want." The man stooped down to pick the child up, but the younger flinched away at his nearing. Nonetheless, the colonel scooped the goldenrod haired boy up so that his knees hung over one of Roy's arms while the kid's own awkwardly-bound arms hung over the other one.

The boy tensed up, rigid in the hold. His eyes were fixed in an expression that was pleading, "Don't drop me, don't drop me, please don't drop me…"

Roy mockingly smirked but Riza shot him a warning glare.

"What? I wasn't going to do anything!"

"I never said that you were."

"Well, I wasn't. Have a little faith in me."

"I have complete faith in you, sir." She fingered her gun nonchalantly. Roy didn't even know if the move was a conscious one or not.

"Hawkeye, I am a mature adult; I'm not going to terrorize a troublesome little brat just to get some childish form of revenge for him causing this mess. Come on now."

"Of course, sir. Where would the sense in that be?" She began to walk away. "That wouldn't be a very intelligent thing to do at all."

Mustang followed warily, keeping an extra secure grip on his charge.

Not intelligent indeed.

Chapter Text

Through the haze of black, Ed heard a car door slam shut. It took a little while more for him to recognize the sound for what it was and make the connection.

He was in a car, but why? He didn't remember getting into one.

What did he remember, anyway? He had been running, he knew that much. Someone had been chasing him and his brother. There had been a blonde woman with a gun. That's it: he had stolen a silver pocket watch from a man and the guy had gotten angry and gone after him. A second man had caught up with him. And the black haired man wearing the narrow glasses had always seemed to be right there, no matter where Ed went; the teen just couldn't get away. Ed had been caught, and then he had felt sick; been sick, actually. What about the other two adults? The lady had left him, probably to help the first man chase after…Alphonse!

Ed's eyes snapped open as he remembered. Where was Al? Had he been captured? The blond boy struggled into a sitting position, wincing at the pounding in his skull. His vision cleared and he could see a window next to him.

Peering through it, Ed saw three adults—the ones who'd been pursuing him—talking together. The taller man with glasses reached toward the dark bundle that the shorter man was carrying. The bundle, in turn, shifted away, even flailing around when they didn't leave it alone. It was obviously a human, probably a child.

When the struggling got worse, the shorter man gently but quickly set the kid on the ground.

Ed's stomach dropped. It was Al; they had his little brother! The little boy was shaking his head adamantly as they spoke to him. When the woman took a step closer, Al moved back apprehensively and awkwardly got to his knees. Ed was outraged to see that his brother's hands were apparently bound behind his small back.

"Al–" he started to shout into the window, then stopped to cough. "Al! Alphonse!" But when he tried to bang on the cold glass, there was a metallic jingle from his wrist. Looking down, Edward saw the silver handcuff that encircled his wrist and the metal chain leading from it, which had been attached to part of the inner door handle.

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Ed snatched the pin hidden in his coat and deftly jammed it into the lock of the cuffs. It took him a little longer than normal, considering he had to use his non-dominant left hand, but Ed still had the lock picked and clicking open in under a minute.

That done, the blond wasted no time in tearing open the car door and tumbling out.

"What–" was all that the female officer got out before Ed was running toward them, shouting.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" he exclaimed. He shoved past the tallest officer, who was kneeling before the younger boy, and dropped to his knees. "Al! Are you okay?" He wrapped his arms around the younger protectively before pulling back and looking into his eyes.

"Brother," Al said, relief all-too obvious in his voice. He looked down. "I think I hurt my ankle." The boy indicated the swollen appendage with a nod of his head.

With all the gentleness he could muster, Edward fingered the injury, feeling it and testing the extent of the damage, frowning when he also noticed the scratches on Alphonse's knees. Al had a pained expression on his face.

"I think it's just a sprain," Ed finally concluded, caressing the tender area. "I can find something cold for it, maybe some snow…" He looked up. Or maybe he couldn't. All three adults were standing over the Elric brothers with stern expressions upon their faces. He felt like a trapped animal and had to resist the inclination to bare his teeth.

The man whom Ed had stolen from had his arms folded across his chest, looking unimpressed. After a second, he spoke, "I don't believe we've properly met. Care to tell me your name?"

Sneering, Ed responded, "You first."

The man replied with a smirk, "Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. And you?"

Edward looked away in stubborn refusal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman roll her eyes slightly at his childish action.

The Flame Alchemist looked slightly annoyed. However, he seemed to shrug it off as he addressed Ed's little brother, "So, your name's Al, huh? Tell me, Al, what were you and your brother doing out in the back alleys in this cold weather? Don't your parents mind?"

"We don't have any," Alphonse responded truthfully. Ed felt like knocking his brother upside the head for revealing such things about them. It was already bad enough that they knew Alphonse's name and that the two were brothers.

"So you're orphans?" the woman concluded.

"No," snapped Ed. "We live here and we don't need any parents. We're brothers; we have each other and that's all we need or will ever need."

"That's what orphans are: kids who don't have parents. And I highly doubt that either of you are eighteen." Mustang eyed their small forms critically. "Why aren't you in an orphanage?"

Edward snorted disdainfully before muttering, "We don't belong in any orphanage."

"And why's that?" the other man finally spoke up, even sounding a little interested. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Hey," the young golden-blond retorted impatiently, "we don't go on interrogating you about your lives, so don't do it to us."

"Well," Mustang said in a condescending tone, "we don't go around robbing persons of their property. Particularly the pocket watches of State Alchemists."

"Yeah, yeah," Edward said sullenly. He didn't like the company of so many strangers. "We kinda needed the money. But you got your stupid watch back and chased us all over the place. Can't you just leave us alone now?" He leaned slightly closer to his silent brother.

"Sorry, no can do." The guy with the glasses finally brought himself down to their level. "Even if Roy lets you both off the hook for this, we can't just leave a couple of children on the streets so they can scrounge around for food and shelter and occasionally rob people. Especially when those children aren't in the best of health. It's just not something we can just let pass."

Edward bristled. "Why not? It's your fault Al got hurt in the first place!"

"Well, then you should have kept your grubby fingers to yourself!" the Flame Alchemist rebuked huffily.

The older boy was nearing the end of his rope. It didn't help that each and every one of his means of escape were rapidly diminishing in number. "I can take care of my own brother! You don't have to worry about him."

The unnamed man adjusted his glasses. "Last time I checked, kid, you weren't in the best of health, either." His eyebrows were quirked in a way that clearly said, "You know I have a point".

Edward averted his gaze. "Not your problem," he mumbled. He was loath to admit it, but he was getting a little scared by now. This could be bad.

The guy clicked his tongue. "No, it kind of is our problem. So why don't you just make it easy and come with us."

Al spoke up at last. "Where? Where do you want to take us?"

The crouching guy turned his attention to the copper haired brother. "Well, probably first to a doctor to get you boys checked out. After that, an orphanage would–"

"No!" the older brother interjected fiercely. The others seemed taken aback by his sudden outburst. "You can't! We're not going! You can't make us go!" His heart was thudding and his throat was closing up again in warning.

"Hughes," the Flame Alchemist chastised and quickly grabbed hold of Edward's arms, trapping them behind his back. "Alright, that's it. Come on." He hauled the youth to his feet.

Ed panicked as he was pulled away from Al and felt cold metal deftly encircle his wrists. "No! No! Al, run!" But the man whose name appeared to be "Hughes" had grabbed hold of Alphonse's virtually immobile arm while the blonde officer attempted to pick him up. "No!" To his immense frustration, Edward began coughing yet again. He fought to get air into his lungs, straining against Mustang. "Don't let them—" Ed hacked, "—find out…!"

His words died in his throat.

The world seemed to almost freeze as Hughes tried to aid his female companion and readjusted Al's black jacket—the one Alphonse had been so diligent about keeping on.

As the hood slid off, Edward felt his heart, stomach, and possibly even lungs plummet down to somewhere below his ankles in horror. His knees seemed to stop working as well.

It was a familiar enough sight to him, but not to these military people. This assumption was proven as the lady almost dropped the boy and Hughes briefly recoiled. Edward wanted to cover his ears before the inevitable was said, but was prevented from doing so. He inwardly flinched as Hughes awed. "He's…a chimera," the man murmured, staring at the copper, feline ears perched atop the younger Elric's head.

Sagging in Mustang's grip, Ed found himself faintly appreciative of the fact that he couldn't quite breathe. Not only because the lack of air prevented the painful assault on his lungs from continuing, but also because he felt that, had he been able to draw breath, he might have cried in despair at the moment he felt his own hood being slid backward.

He knew they were looking at his own similarly animalistic features.

It was over. And he didn't want to imagine what these people might do with him and his brother now.

Chapter Text

Roy took a moment to gape at what was before him. Astonishment aside, he didn't know whether to feel pity or revulsion toward the boys.

How could something like this have come to pass?

"Sir?" He looked to Riza, who was looking at him in an uncertain and inquiring way. Roy looked from the now silent and scared captive in the woman's arms, to the limp one he himself was supporting from under their arms. He wanted to drop the kid—thing, whatever it was—but that would be unprofessional. Instead, his mind was whirling, trying to determine an appropriate course of action.

It was Maes who burst into his thoughts with, "They don't seem too dangerous."

The colonel turned his attention to the other man. "Hughes, they're chimera. We can't go on what they seem like."

"They're also children, Roy, and that's all we have to go on at the moment."

"They're only half children, though; they're also half animal!"

"But they're still children, nonetheless."

"Yeah, well what do you propose we do with them?" Mustang asked, growing slightly irritated.

"I say we do what we were going to do: load them up in the car and take them–"

"An orphanage won't take them."

Hughes rolled his eyes. "I know. But I'm not going to leave them out here on the streets. Besides the fact that they're too young to be living on their own, I'm sure that if we left them here, they'd end up robbing a few other people."

"Then where do we take them?"

"Your place." The man held up a hand to silence his companion before he could interrupt. "I say this because Riza's ruled out on account of her owning a dog. I doubt Black Hayate would take too kindly to these boys. And it can't be my house because I have a wife and daughter there. I don't think bringing…these—" He gestured to the silent pickpockets, "—home would go over very peacefully and would simply be cause for more stress."

Roy bit his lip in indecision. He knew his friend had perfectly valid points, yet, he wasn't all that comfortable with the idea of housing two chimera-freaks.

Hughes spoke again as he walked over. "It wouldn't be permanent; just until we can find somewhere else better. We can decide what to do from there." Roy wondered what his friend meant by "better". Who would want to take in a chimera, besides some nut-case scientist? Still, he allowed the other man to take the youth from him, lifting the blond into his arms, and walking over and setting him in the backseat of the car. The kid didn't say a word, his eyes averted downward. That done, he motioned for Hawkeye to do the same.

Mustang nodded an affirmative in her direction when she hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he climbed into the front seat, watching as Riza climbed in next to him, and Hughes slid into the back seat alongside the boys.

Roy hoped he didn't wind up regretting this.

Maes Hughes set the inert blond boy on the couch in Roy's house. Both kids had seemed rather listless on the ride over, which had concerned the man slightly at first. But when they had arrived and he'd made a move to take the copper haired one, Al, the other brother had immediately wrapped his legs tightly around his brother's waist, his own hands trapped behind his back. The blond had glared at Hughes with a scared, yet stubborn protectiveness in his golden eyes as he pulled his apparently sleeping brother closer.

It had taken them nearly ten minutes of struggling—threats, defensive retorts, many reassurances, and finally, a cocked gun from Riza—to get them untangled. But they had done it.

Riza, carrying the sleeping Al, was preceded by Maes carrying the other boy, who had nonverbally insisted on positioning himself so that he could look over Maes' shoulder the whole time to intently watch over his brother.

Mustang just stood uneasily to the side as they deposited their cargo on his sofa. He obviously still didn't trust the human-chimera.

Without another word, Maes stood and went to the medicine cabinet. There, he grabbed some bandages and almost some antiseptic, but decided against it—he wouldn't trust their guests to react well to it. He also grabbed a washcloth and a bowl of water.

When he returned, he caught a glimpse of Riza's back as Roy let her out the door.

At a raised eyebrow, Roy explained, "She's gonna go down and clear up some things at the office for us."

"Tell her thanks," Maes said before setting the items he held on the floor in front of the couch. He, too, knelt there, facing the brothers who were now together again, as if drawn to each other by some magnetic force. "Can I trust you?" he asked unexpectedly, lifting the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. The golden-blond eyed the piece of metal hungrily and nodded. The green-eyed man looked sternly at him. "I wanna hear you say it."

"…Fine. I won't run away," came the hoarse confirmation from the kid. At a glance to the still-suspicious colonel, he rolled his eyes, continuing, "Or try to kill you or maim or anything." Roy snorted and left into the kitchen.

Hughes chuckled slightly and reached around to unlock the cuffs. With a click, they were off. The young teen massaged his wrists. "What about Al?"

"I'll get to your brother in a minute." Actually, Hughes merely didn't trust both boys unbound. "Let me see your hand. I wanna clean that cut." He indicated the gash on the back of the small hand. The teen regarded Hughes warily, pulling the hand in question closer to his chest, the catlike ears upon his head folding back in an animalistic way. But Hughes just dipped the washcloth in the bowl and proffered it on his own hand. He knew that the boy wasn't stupid enough to leave an injury like that un-cleaned when he had an opportunity to clean it.

So he at last relented, looking away ashamedly as if to deny his submission. Hughes gently slid the cloth over the wound. He was sort of surprised that the boy never flinched once. When he had cleaned it adequately, he wrapped a white bandage around the hand and immediately dipped the cloth back in the water again.

This time, however, he held out the dripping fabric to the chimera-boy. The boy was taken aback at first and stared at Hughes' green eyes confusedly. "What?" he asked guardedly.

Maes just nodded his head to the sleeping Al. "I take it you'd like to do him yourself? Or, at least, you don't want me messing with your little brother."

The teen nodded slowly and grabbed the cloth from the lieutenant colonel. Immediately, he went to work on his sibling.

Maes watched as the golden-eyed teenager tenderly wiped the washcloth over Al's cuts and scrapes, leaning to re-dip the towel every once-in-a-while, then continuing. He would occasionally run his fingers through the dark goldenrod hair and mutter things under his breath to the sleeping brother. While the yet-unnamed brother's feline ears were the same golden-color as his hair at the base of the ears and fading to an off-white near the tips, the other brother's unique appendages were the exact shade as his honey-brown hair, a fair bit fluffier than the blond's. They would occasionally twitch with the teen's ministrations—the kids didn't appear to have any human ears. Down one pant leg, Hughes saw a small amount of movement every-so-often, which he grew to suspect might be a tail. All in all, it was very heartwarming to watch.

Eventually, though, the chimera-boy noticed Hughes' observances and almost immediately ceased his fondlings.

Hughes hurriedly tried to start up conversation. "So, is 'Al' short for anything?"

He received a glower in response. All the same, after a few calculating glances, the teen answered, "Alec. It's short for Alec."

"And do you have a name?"

"Ed…mund. It's Edmund."

"Well, Edmund, I know it might not be any of my business, but…how did you come by…" Hughes gestured to the kitty ears, "those, exactly?"

The ears in question flattened a little. After a little while, the homeless kid's eyes dropped. "It's a long story. And I don't see any reason to tell it to you."

"Fair enough," admitted Hughes, still interested, "but us knowing might help your situation."

"How?" was the distrusting, doubtful query.

"Well, not knowing would just make things more complicated." There was no reply. With a heavy sigh, Maes pushed himself to his feet and turned. "I'll be just a minute. I'll trust you not to run off?" Again, no response.

He walked into the kitchen to see Roy stirring a bowl of something in preparation for supper. "Well?" Mustang asked over his shoulder at his friend's approaching footsteps.

"You know anyone who's in the medical practice, good with both boys and cats, and can be trusted?"

"I can look into it. Get anywhere with 'em?"

"Their names. Though, I'm not sure how reliable they are. But nothing else."

"…They try to kill you?"

Maes snorted ruefully and took the bowl and spoon from Roy. "Um, no."

"Good. 'Cause if they don't, I will."

That night, Hughes stayed at Roy's house, just for safe measure.

He had called Gracia to tell her that he'd be staying over to do some important work. And, though his wife hadn't seemed very happy at the information, she had let it go without anything beyond the normal questions.

That settled, Maes made his way back to the living room to be with their new "guests". Roy had gone into another room upstairs to make some arrangements, which mostly consisted of calls to Riza—she being the efficient woman that she was.

Meanwhile, Maes just sat there, chin resting on his folded hands, watching the brothers. He noticed that the sleeping one's handcuffs were no longer present and he doubted that it was Roy who had released the kid. Well, these were pickpockets; it wouldn't surprise him if they could pick locks, too. Still, he didn't comment on it.

They remained in that fashion until about one o'clock in the morning, when the still-awake Ed broke the silence with, "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you go to bed or something?"

"Shouldn't you?" was the comeback.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Sorry, but I'm not about to close my eyes with you still here. You can hardly expect me to trust you."

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way."

Silence reigned once more.

It was over half an hour later that a bleary-eyed Roy trudged down the stairs and into the living room. He dropped a scrawled-on piece of paper into Maes' lap and mumbled with a big yawn, "T'morrow mornin', seve' thir'y, I'm beat. Goin' t' bed." With that, the colonel disappeared back up the stairs, most likely into his bedroom.

Hughes picked up the page and tried to read the illegible handwriting. After failing three times, he gave up and sighed in the general direction of Roy's room upstairs. "You'd better be able to read this, or at least remember it by tomorrow…"

Ed didn't inquire as to the nature of the paper, just stared intently at Hughes. This could be a long night.

Chapter Text

Alphonse had every right to be as confused as he was when he woke up. Not only was he in a new place with unfamiliar sounds and smells, but he had no idea how he'd gotten there and two of the strangers who had captured the brothers were watching him. On top of that, he was actually warm and suspected that most, if not all, of his cuts and scraped had been cleaned.

Edward was beside him, speaking angrily to the man who had been named as Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. "We're not going anywhere with you."

"It's for your own good!"

"Yeah, because you know I trust everything you say!"

"Edmund…! If not for your sake, then at least for your brother's!"

Al wrinkled his nose. "Edmund"? It didn't take much to figure out that that was the name Ed was probably going by. "Brother?" Al asked upon seeing Ed turn to look at him.

"Al, you're awake! How do you feel?"

"My head kinda hurts, but I feel much better than I did earlier," the goldenrod haired boy admitted truthfully.

Mustang jumped on the response. "See?"

Edward ignored the man. Concern radiated off the older Elric as he felt Al's face. "I think you have a little bit of a fever."

"You both probably do," Mustang interrupted again, impatiently. "Which is why we're going. Now get your butts up off my couch before we're late. I spent hours on the phone for this and I will sedate you!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

Mustang huffed at that and marched out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Edward began quickly filling Al in on everything that had happened. The occasional glance was shot at the man Hughes, who stood in the kitchen doorway with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

A couple hours of sitting on the couch and refusing to converse with the adults later, there was a knock on the door. Mustang, who'd been sitting with a newspaper, rose and immediately strode over to answer it—Hughes had already excused himself for a quick nap.

"Colonel Mustang, I take it?" came a woman's voice from outside.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"And you're the one who called us out on this…special case?" came a different voice, this time a man's.

Mustang nodded and stepped aside to let the newcomers in. "You must be the doctors Rockbell. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they wouldn't budge."

"That's quite alright," said the female as she entered the house. "I'd actually be surprised if they'd go anywhere with you." The woman, who seemed to be about thirty or so, was of average height with braided, chest-length brunette hair and compassionate, yet tenacious cobalt blue eyes.

She was followed by a man, whom Al guessed, based on the conversation, was either her brother or husband. More likely husband, considering the only feature they shared were their blue eyes. Besides the matching eye color, the man had medium blond hair, stood a few inches taller than his supposed wife, and carried a black medical bag in his left hand. He looked to be in his late thirties to early forties.

The woman, presumably Mrs. Rockbell, swiftly and efficiently took in the Elrics with a glance, showing no hint of surprise at their atypical bodies. "I'm Dr. Rockbell. This is my husband, also Dr. Rockbell, so you can just call us Mis'ess or Mister Rockbell to avoid confusion. You're Edmund and Alec?"

Ed nodded from beside Al, trepidation stiffening his neck.

Mr. Rockbell set down his medical bag on one of the arms of the sofa next to him. "The colonel here called on us in hopes that we could give you boys a good checkup. How does that sound?" Alphonse was observant enough to detect the placating tone in both the doctors' voices. These people were at least practiced in dealing with those who didn't wish to be dealt with.

Edward looked to his little brother at the question, as if it were the younger who would be making the decision. And Alphonse realized that that was most likely the case here. Not knowing what to do, Al just looked helplessly up at the female doctor.

Mrs. Rockbell gave a sympathetic smile and slowly, but unwaveringly stepped over to the brothers. She held out a hand to Al, though why, he didn't quite comprehend. Ed snorted and disdainfully said, "We're chimera, not animals; we don't want to lick or sniff you or anything gross like that."

Mrs. Rockbell chuckled good-naturedly and withdrew her hand. "Well, we can never be too sure. You're not the first chimera we've met, y'know." Alphonse wanted to ask questions about the elusive statement but, noticing his older brother's failure to take the bait of conversation, he did likewise. After an awkward couple seconds of silence, Mrs. Rockbell bent down to sit on her heels and spoke again, "Tell me, Alec, how old are you?"

Once again, Al looked to Ed for permission to reveal any true information about themselves. Ed nodded his reluctant consent before returning his attention to the husband, who was going through his bag.

"Thirteen," Alphonse answered. He knew that he looked a year or so younger than he was; both Elrics did.

"And how long have you been a chimera?"

"Eight or nine years."

"Your brother, too?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You have some handsome-looking ears there." No response. Only an uncomfortable glance to the left. "May I take a look at them?"

And there had begun the lengthy examination. While the female physician tended to the younger Elric, the male had the job of the elder. The much more difficult of the two, it would turn out, as Ed insisted on being able to see his little brother the whole time, watching Mrs. Rockbell like a hawk no matter how gentle she was with the honey-brown haired boy. The golden-blond had become almost feral when the matter of Al's ankle came to hand. However, the injury was pronounced just a sprain and would, in all likelihood, heal within a couple of weeks.

After that, the examination had extended farther, up under the boys' shirts checking heart rates, breathing, and looking for broken bones, and then down their arms and legs, checking for any other injuries. Judging by her expression upon discovering Al's bushy tail, Mrs. Rockbell thought the appendage was charming. Edward kept his own white-tipped one hidden until Mr. Rockbell had finally made him pull it out to examine for breaks and such.

When the doctors had finished looking here, feeling there, and prodding a few other places, they spent several minutes asking the boys various questions. Most were ordinary, a few were a little confusing, some were flat-out refused to be answered, and there were others that were awkward to the point that neither child would respond in anything above an abashed mumble.

All during the procedure, Mustang stood off to the side inconspicuously, answering a question for the boys when he could—he received sharp golden-eyed glares on most such occasions—and retrieving something for the doctors a few times. But mostly, he just stood there like a pillar, likely ready to jump in if either chimera caused trouble.

Which was exactly what happened when Al watched the doctor, whose wife addressed him as "Urey", pull out a syringe from his bag.

Though Ed was looking down at his knees, out of the corner of his eye, he was clandestinely watching his little brother with the female doctor beside him. He didn't trust her; he didn't trust either doctor. Heck, he couldn't honestly say he trusted any of these strangers.

Why should he? What assurance did he have that one of them wouldn't up and haul him and Al to some lab to be experimented on? To be tested, poked and prodded, stuck with needles…

The young blond shuddered at the horrid idea. No. That wouldn't happen; he would keep a good eye on the man before him…who was pulling something out of that black bag. And that something made Ed's heart skip a beat.

The boy's muscles tightened all throughout his body as he felt panic tug at the back of his brain. His nostrils flared and he sank back into the couch, sudden fear making him feel sick all over again. This couldn't be happening. Cold sweat pricked along his hairline and forehead, triggering a shiver to run down his spine. He had to get away, and fast! He was off the couch the second the man turned to him, needle in hand.

"Ed– Edmund? What are you doing? Hey, what's the matter?" As the man spoke, Ed was retreating backward, lip twitching in what was threatening to form into a snarl. Mr. Rockbell took a confused step toward the boy, who hurriedly backed up more. Then…

Al!

His little brother was seated alongside Mrs. Rockbell and looking uncomfortably out the window as she spoke. "Al! Get away! Don't trust them!"

Snapping to attention, Alphonse immediately obeyed, no questions asked. The younger Elric pushed Mrs. Rockbell away and scrambled off the couch and across the room—or, tried to. Having seemingly forgotten about his previously acquired injury, the thirteen year-old couldn't help but yelp as he applied weight to his now-bandaged ankle, promptly dropping to his knees.

"Al!" Ed shouted in concern.

"Edmund, hey, calm down," Mr. Rockbell was saying, starting to approach him, but Edward paid him no heed. Instead, the teen leaped forward and shoved past Mr. Rockbell. "Whoa–"

Before Mrs. Rockbell could act, Edward was beside his little brother, awkwardly trying to pull the younger to his feet. Largely failing at this, he, more-or-less, dragged Al with him, supporting him under the arms while Al awkwardly used one foot to help the pair along as best he could.

"Hold it," came the voice of Mustang as the man quickly strode over toward them.

Alphonse was instantly deposited on the floor—where he quickly scooted back a foot or so into the corner of the room by the front door—as Edward spun to confront the alchemist. "Get away from us!" he snapped, ears lying back in a feral way.

The whole episode was over in under ten seconds, but Ed's heart was pounding like he'd just run a few miles. He faced Mustang in a slight crouch, eyes flicking between the black haired man before him, and the two doctors. His tail twitched back and forth tensely.

"What's wrong with him?" Ed heard the female doctor ask.

"Obviously, something upset him," answered the husband. He was bent forward a little with his hands on his knees, peering at the boys. Then, "Edmund? What happened? What's wrong?"

"You just stay away from us," Ed warned, hostility reverberating throughout the demand.

The man's wife, who was sitting on the couch beside him, asked, "Have they ever behaved like this before?"

"Not that I know of… Well, no, not really. I mean…not like this."

"Stop talking like we're not here!" Ed burst out in annoyance. "Like we're just animals or something!" The word animals echoed with burning resentment.

"That would be easy if you'd stop acting like it," Mustang snapped. "All cowering in the corner like that…"

"Then stop treating us like it!" His voice cracked on the last word, the soreness from the day before blossoming anew in his throat and the rest of his body. "I'm not about to let you go sticking us with needles, either!" This time, his head throbbed painfully and his knees and lower legs seemed to lose their strength, as if the bones had been replaced with jelly or rubber or something equally as pliable and incapable of supporting him.

"You're–! Whoa, no you don't." It was the voice of the Flame Alchemist as Edward fought to keep his balance, stumbling and grabbing onto the doorknob.

"Brother?"

His vision grayed for a moment then cleared. Feeling the arm around his waist, he had enough sense to struggle, yelling a jumble of, "Lemmiego, lemmiegolemmiegorightnow!"

"What is going on here?" demanded a male. A new voice, so probably Hughes, maybe? Ed didn't know. His vision was blurring again, his body weighed down with the fatigue of the past day or so.

He really was so tired. But what about Alphonse? He couldn't leave his little brother with these people…

But the world was fading away, noises sounding like they were swirling around a tunnel. Inky blackness set in.

He needed to protect Al…

Once again, Edward found himself in complete darkness. He wanted to scowl in frustration but he didn't quite have control over his facial muscles yet. He felt so tired…

His thoughts were swimming around his head as his senses gradually returned one-by-one. First came touch: Ed was lying on something firm, yet comfortable. Too rough for a bed but strangely familiar and cushiony. A couch. Taste came along with the first sense. His mouth tasted awful and was really dry. He also became aware of something unpleasantly cool laid across his forehead. It was damp, too.

But he wasn't cold.

Then he could smell. A faint odor of smoke tainted with aftershave tickled his nose. There was no breeze—he must be inside?—and he could smell a few other human bodies in the room. Maybe a few unidentifiable chemicals, as well.

After that came the sound, which he wasn't aware he was missing until it came rushing back. There were voices all around him. No more than five, but it sounded like a cacophony as his sensitive ears adjusted.

"…all in all." It was the voice of an adult female. "Exhaustion can do that." The voice faded and became muted, as if Ed had just been plunged underwater. Then it came back strong, "…to reduce stress. They don't need any more."

A man's voice was speaking next. "We'll write down some instructions for you to follow. Also…" Edward felt something against his hand. "…for knowing which…" It was another hand. "…fed again."

"But what about…" a tired-sounding man spoke. The hand was smaller than his own. Alphonse. "…like…" Edward squeezed the hand hesitantly.

"Brother?"

"Too young–" The conversation stopped.

"Is he waking up?" asked the woman's voice. Mrs. Rockbell, Ed recalled. The teen's eyelids were heavy and didn't want to open. Struggling with them for a minute, he finally managed to pry them apart, letting light stream in. He winced; the light was sharp contrast to the darkness behind closed eyelids. And it brought back the throb of a headache he had forgotten.

Nevertheless, Ed kept them open after blinking a few times. There was a face hovering above him. Blonde hair, blue eyes: Mrs. Rockbell. "Ge'way fr'me," Ed slurred. His tongue apparently wasn't functioning quite yet.

"Brother, are you alright?" Guilt attacked Ed at the urgency and concern in his younger brother's voice.

"'M fine…just–"

"No sitting up yet," Mrs. Rockbell ordered, hand on his chest at the boy's attempt to rise. He sent her a venomous glare but was too tired to fight back. "You gave us a bit of a scare, there. Can you drink a little water for me?" The unanticipated question was followed with a glass being held before his mouth. His lips closed, ever distrustful. "You're dehydrated." It wasn't working. "Edmund, it's not poisoned; your brother drank from it."

Ed wished he could turn his stiff neck to see his brother beside him, but the assuring, "It's fine, Brother. It's not bad or anything. Really," was good enough to convince him. His throat was crying out for it.

"There we go," the blonde woman encouraged as Ed parted his lips and she poured a little water into his mouth.

He swallowed greedily, the cool liquid soothing his dry and sore throat. However, the doctor only gave him small sips at a time and retracted the glass all too soon, claiming that too much could make him sick and that she'd really rather not spend her evening cleaning Colonel Mustang's couch.

...Evening… How long had he been out?

"How are you feeling, Brother?"

Ed smiled as Al came into his line of sight, feeling more secure with his brother visible. "Told you I'm fine, Al. Didn't y'hear me the first time?"

"But you fainted!"

Ed blushed with shame. Self-conscious, he also remembered and removed the moist washcloth from his forehead. He gripped it in his free hand. "Yeah, well, I'm fine now. Let's just get outta here so we can–"

"You two aren't going anywhere," interjected Mrs. Rockbell.

"And why not?" Edward challenged indignantly.

"Because, not only are you boys in no condition to be out on the streets, but Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes inform me that, given you take to picking pockets, they have the authority to incarcerate both of you if they so choose. So I suggest you stay put."

Ed gaped. Then the golden-blond shot a resentful glare over to Mustang and Hughes, who were engaged in a heated discussion and oblivious to the poisonous scowl directed at them. Mr. Rockbell, too, was preoccupied with writing a long list of somethings on a clean sheet of paper.

The female physician pulled Ed's attention away again with, "Now, would you like to have some more water?"

Chapter Text

Roy sat on his couch, looking quite put out. His and Hughes' "debate" had not turned out in his favor. After a phone call to Hawkeye at his office and several long minutes of arguing about responsibility, convenience, matters of health, and "why you should be more open to them, Roy; they're just kids", Hughes had finally won with the irrefutable fact that Roy had a guest bedroom; he could most easily house them.

Also, the lieutenant colonel had passionately proclaimed that he couldn't stay away from his precious Gracia and dear little Elicia a day longer. Even though he was sure that, if he asked his wife, she'd forgive him for another overnighter for work, the fact remained that he had not asked her, wasn't planning to, and had apparently promised the previous night that it would be a onetime thing, anyway. So the man had left shortly after giving his superior some coaching tips about handling children.

On the plus side, Roy had to remind himself, Hawkeye and Hughes had agreed to trade off with him after a couple days. And that way, the Flame Alchemist wouldn't use up all his sick days at work at once—that was, Riza had informed him, the excuse she was giving for his absence at the office.

The two chimera-hybrids were on the sofa adjacent to his, the older watching Mustang suspiciously, the quiet, younger in a sound sleep that the Rockbell doctors had assured Roy was undoubtedly a minor side effect of the injection that they had given the child earlier that day. All the adults had determined it wise not to inform the older boy of what had gone on while he had been unconscious.

The Rockbells, satisfied with their examination of the boys, had left not half an hour ago with the promise of returning in a week. They'd also left their number with him along with several sheets of paper regarding Mustang's new charges.

Those were what the onyx-eyed man was currently reading at last.

Dr. Urey Rockbell
4. April. 1913

Overview:
Patient name: Edmund
Sex: m
Age: 14 yrs.
DOB: n/a — won't reveal.
Height: can't determine — won't stand up for us to measure him. Probably under 5'
Weight: can't determine — seems around 100 lbs.
Hair color: blond
Eye color: gold

Chimera, seemingly a domestic cat. Has been so for 8 to 9 yrs. Blond, white-tipped feline tail (approx. 2'5") extending from base of spine. Blond, white-tipped feline ears on top of head. No apparent normal/human ears. No other apparent physical abnormalities.

Health/concerns and instructions:
• 2" laceration on back of right hand
injury healing properly
no stitches necessary

Do: disinfect and re-bandage daily
call if infection develops.

• malnourished
underweight and slightly emaciated

Do: feed regularly starting out with easy/light foods such as soup and toast and/or rice
only feed small amounts at a time (half and quarter meal portions)
do not overfeed
do not force feed
call if there is significant refusal to eat.

• dehydrated
may experience dizzy spells if upright for extended periods

Do: give a glass of water between 5 and 10 min. intervals
ensure water is ingested in small sips — not too quickly
continue rehydrating until deemed unnecessary
limit physical activity until rehydrated
call if no considerable improvement is seen within a couple hours
call if significant water is refused
call if fever rises over 101˚ F.

• fatigued/exhausted
causing fever and weakness
increasing stress levels
may be causing dizziness/lightheadedness and moodiness

Do: ensure adequate sleep is obtained
restrict excessive physical exertions
do not allow outside in cold temperatures for prolonged amounts of time
call in the case of high fever
call in the case of fainting spells.

• upper respiratory infection

Blah, blah, blah. Mustang flipped through the rest of the pages, skimming over their contents without much interest and placing the papers on the coffee table. The last page was telling about things he ought to do, what might help out, and what not to do.

The next page was started in a different handwriting.

Dr. Sara Rockbell
4. April. 1913

Overview:
Patient name: Alec (Al)
Sex: male
Age: 14 years old
DOB: patient won't disclose
Height: somewhere around 5ft.
Weight: seems under approx. 100 pounds
Hair color: copper/gold
Eye color: gray olive-green

Patient has allegedly been a cat-chimera for 8 – 9 years. Has 2 cat ears on top of head and matching tail(slightly over 2 ft.) continuing from bottom of spine (both having the same color as patient's hair). Does not have natural human ears. Canine teeth could be possibly longer than others but it may just be normal growth. Does not appear to have any deviant appendages other than the aforementioned.

Health/concerns and instructions:
– sprained ankle
swollen left ankle
moderate but not severe
should heal within 3 weeks

Do: wrap injury for the next 42 hours
apply ice during the next day for 10 to 20 minutes every hour or until swelling goes down
restrict/limit patient from using injured ankle for a few days to one week
elevate injury whenever possible
administer painkillers if/when needed
call if severe pain forms
call if patient loses mobility of ankle.

– various cuts and bruises
should heal within a couple weeks

Do: watch out for any infectious developments
bandage if necessary.

– malnourishment

Roy browsed down some more, seeing that the notes were largely the same. He was surprised there was nothing mentioned about fleas.

Environment changes will most likely cause stress that may manifest in poor behavior, bed–

"Hey, give that back! I need those!" Roy abruptly exclaimed at the teen who had just grabbed the stack of discarded pages from the coffee table. The man reached out to snatch them away but the blond held them out of reach.

"Cool it," the boy reproved aversely. His voice was fringed with hoarseness from earlier. "I'm not hurting them. Besides, you're the one who dropped them on the table like you were done with them." With a wrinkled brow of disapproval, Ed watched the Flame Alchemist reluctantly settle back into his chair before asking, "What's so important about these, anyway?"

"Those are the papers the Mister and Mis'ess Rockbell wrote up about you and your brother. I have to read them if I'm gonna know how to take care of you so you don't randomly keel over when my back is turned."

Ed scowled and looked down at the papers in his hand. Then he tossed Roy a resentful look. "Al and I can take care of ourselves. And there's nothing in here that he and I wouldn't already know about ourselves."

"While both of those statements are debatable," Mustang scoffed and he saw the cat ears lower in vexation, "it still doesn't change that I can't picture you giving away all this information without a fight that could last at least a couple weeks." He distractedly looked back down to Al's papers in his hand. But upon receiving no snarky retort, Mustang glanced back up to see a perplexed expression residing on the teen's face.

The kid seemed to be contemplating between taking the man's latest allegation as a compliment or as an insult. Noticing the man watching him, Ed frowned and his ears went down farther. "Well, would you stop reading that right in front of me? It feels awkward."

Roy raised his eyebrows sarcastically. "Oh, I'm sorry. What was I thinking? Would you rather turn your back?" The blond ears were leveled with the mess of hair. Roy raised his papers and went back to finding his place, remarking, "Besides, this isn't your file; it's your brother's."

Up came the ears. "Yeah? …And what does it say?"

"You're asking me? I thought you and your brother already knew everything you needed to know about yourselves," the older man disputed derisively as his eyes rose from the page, a bemused smile hidden behind the top of the paper held before his face. "Why don't you just ask him?"

The boy's curiosity was replaced with petulant dislike. And Roy noted that the teen's atypical ears seemed to mimic the mood of his face; even when the pickpocket managed to conceal his expression, he didn't seem to have as much control over the flicks and twitches of those feline additions atop his head. "He's asleep," Ed supplied with a glower.

Once again, Roy directed his attention to the pages in hand. "Why don't you join him?"

"I'm not tired," the young teenager snapped.

"That's not what your papers say." Nor the dark circles residing under the golden eyes.

"Sure they don't," Ed muttered impudently.

"Look for yourself," Roy said, turning to the next page—this time he kept the stack in his hand. "That's your information right there in your hand." The man hid a smirk at his charge's expected reaction. The shuffling of papers was heard as a now-interested teenager straightened them and began browsing from back to front: the order Mustang had deposited them on the table.

The adult continued with his reading.

It is curious, though, the exceptional quality of the chimera ears/tail. While it isn't impossible for a chimera to be near-seamless, it isn't very common. Although–

"'Social interaction' my foot. Dumb doctors…" The childish condemnation somehow amused Roy. But before he could get back to the words on the page, Roy heard Ed exclaim with indignation mixed with unease, "'Injections'? What injections? When did I get shots?"

The colonel cringed internally; maybe he shouldn't have let the brat have those papers. All the same, he kept his demeanor indifferent. "While you were passed out."

"Why?"

The man gave up on his reading and set the papers down. "Chill, kid. You were freaking out about it. And, seeing as you had to get them, we figured that would be the best time to do it." The orphan looked distressed. "So, since it's already in your system and has been for at least an hour by now, I suggest you sit back and trust that it doesn't kill you." Roy was losing patience with the boy's caginess. Ed opened his mouth to retort, but the black haired man continued, "And, yes, you are going to have to start having a little more trust in us. We're neither trying nor going to kill you or Alec. So, it would make it easier on all of our parts if you'd stop being so high strung about every little thing. What got you so upset in the first place? I've heard of being scared of needles, but the way you reacted was a bit extreme."

"I wasn't scared!"

"Yeah, right. You just hid in a corner with your brother because it was fun?"

"I wasn't scared," the teen reiterated. "I just didn't like it."

"If that's dislike, I'd hate to see real fear. Is there any particular reason for your aversion to getting shots?"

Ed stared down at Al for a moment. "It's none of your business." He looked back up at Mustang guardedly. "You want me to 'trust' you? I don't; don't have any reason to, either. And until I have a reason to trust you, which I doubt will ever happen, you have no right to any of our personal information besides what those doctors gave you—shouldn't even have that. We've never needed someone to take care of us and we never will. So just leave my brother and me alone."

Roy wanted to get mad at what the teenager had said. But, at the same time, he couldn't help but see where the boy was coming from: why should he put much trust in a man who had practically kidnapped him and confined him and his little brother to his house? No matter how impertinent the kid acted, it was only common sense to be wary.

Still, the blond needed to loosen up. Other than taking the boys in, Roy hadn't really done anything that wouldn't be expected of his position. In fact, the chimera-boys were getting better treatment than they would be getting from most other officers.

Frowning, Roy rose from his seat. He picked up the half-full glass of water from earlier and moved it over to sit on the coffee table before Ed. "Sorry you feel that way. I hope you can grow up soon and realize how juvenile you're acting. There, knock yourself out. I'll show you where you and Alec will be sleeping when you're done."

The alchemist walked out of the room.

Chapter Text

"And you and your brother will sleep in here," Mustang concluded, having already shown the blond his own bedroom and the bathroom on the upper level of his house. He walked into the guest bedroom that the two youngsters would be occupying. In his arms, he held a sleeping Al; a load not easily obtained with the over-protective older brother watching. Though the teen had been strongly against having the man carry the copper haired boy to the spare bedroom, Mustang had convinced him after suggesting that Al would be much warmer and more comfortable in a bed, had assured him that, no, he wouldn't drop Al—"I've carried him before and he's still alive,"—and had denied Ed permission to carry his own sibling—"And what happens when your legs give out and you fall down the stairs and break both your necks?" Al was asleep and they weren't about to wake him and make him limp along on a hurt ankle.

So the teenage pickpocket had begrudgingly allowed the Flame Alchemist to take Al upstairs, walking along behind him as he pointed out the other two rooms. Ed trudged over to the large bed, seemingly too tired to remember to watch Roy like a hawk. The man strode over and laid Al down on the blanket as Ed wearily crawled onto the bed.

"Careful," the boy chastised halfheartedly.

Mustang rolled his eyes at the other's persistence but didn't retort. "I assume you can take it from here?"

"Course…" Ed mumbled, closing his eyes for a couple seconds. He pried them open long enough to look at his little brother and sink down next to him.

"If there's any problem then you know where I sleep, try to run away and I'll have Hawkeye hunt you down, do anything to my house and I'll personally–"

Snore…

Mustang let out the rest of his breath as a sigh. With a backward glance at the boys whom he refused to admit might just look something akin to cute sleeping there, he left the bedroom. A few hours and a phone call to Hughes later, he was in bed. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was the slightly paranoid hope that the two chimera wouldn't sneak into his bedroom at night and slit his throat.

It was about two in the morning when he was awakened unexpectedly.

He's in Mustang's living room again, watching Mr. Rockbell root through his medical bag. Mrs. Rockbell is speaking.

He sees his older brother's face pale significantly, blond ears drawing back. Gold orbs track the tip of a needle as the doctor prepares it.

"Edward? Are you alright?" Mr. Rockbell addresses the older boy when he turns. "Ed, can you look at me? We're not doing anything to hurt you." Ed waveringly complies and stares at the doctor before him. His upper lip twitches.

Mrs. Rockbell stops talking.

"Do you need any help?" Mustang offers from behind. "I have a gun."

"That'll work nicely," the woman says. She takes a pistol from the raven haired man and aims it at Ed. "Won't he be cute?" she asks her husband.

"Absolutely," he says with a smile.

Before he can do anything, Al hears a loud BANG!

His brother is gone now; it's just him. He's alone with the exception of the doctor before him. There's a malevolent smile.

"Where's Brother?" Alphonse asks fearfully.

"Edward is busy right now," the man replies. The room is dark. "Here, take these."

Then there's suddenly something—some things—being pressed to his lips. They're pills, those god-awful pills. He chokes and gags as they slide down his throat. He struggles, trying to break free, crying, "Brother, Brother!. Where are you?!"

"There, there. You'll see. Everything'll be fine, just perfect." A sour smell and the area that he's in gets darker. "This will make everything better." Al screams; he's helpless, coughing, choking, drowning, suffocating…

Flashes of color appear and fade. He's burning, alone, in pain. Is the man still there? It's damp, there's something on his arm. A new noise and he's still panicking. "Al! Wake up!" Edward's voice breaks through the swirling blackness.

"Please…no!"

"Al!"

Alphonse's eyes flew open as he sat up, panting slightly. He grabbed onto the arms that he recognized as Edward's. "Brother?" he asked, looking around the surrounding darkness that appeared to be a bedroom.

"Yeah, Al. Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh," the younger said with a shudder. "Wh…where are we?"

"That guy, Colonel Mustang, is having us sleep in here; it's a guest bedroom or something." Al didn't reply, but just sat there, letting himself calm as the adrenaline left his system. "Um, Al?" Edward spoke up after a minute, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "That wasn't me." Not understanding, Alphonse trained his ears for what his brother might have heard. But after a couple moments of hearing nothing, Al turned to give his brother a questioning glance. That was when he recalled the dampness from his dream; it was still present.

The younger brother felt his face become redder and redder at the implication.

Nothing like that had happened since he had been four or five years old. Mortified, Al wanted the bed—no, the floor would probably be better—to swallow him up. He just sat there, stewing in silent humiliation, a hundred things to say flitting through his head before being discarded.

It was at least a minute of quiet before Ed spoke, "Well…"

"Sorry," Al mumbled hurriedly.

"He-heh," Ed forced out reassuringly. "It's not like you meant to, right?" Al kept his eyes fixated on his tail, which was trying to curl in on itself. Upon getting no answer, the older boy offered, "Though, you might need a bath now… Both of us." Al blushed harder. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Edward shifted and slid off the bed. "Where're you going?" Al asked at the move.

"C'mon," Ed told him quietly, "I know where the bathroom is; we'll get cleaned up."

Al made a small noise of embarrassment before nodding and following after his sibling. The dark bedroom was cold and the younger boy became more aware of the dampness of his clothing when he limped along with Edward, leaning on him and hopping with every other step. They walked down the hallway, then turned left and stopped. Al could hear the pat pat, slide, pat of his brother's hand on the wall as he tried to locate the light switch. Then there was a bright blare of light that had both Elrics closing their eyes and grimacing.

After that, the goldenrod haired child was lead over to the side of the bathtub, where he sat down. Edward reached over to one of the two knobs for the water at the end of the bathtub. He twisted it. Nothing happened. He turned the other. Still nothing. He twisted both back and forth, back and forth, even going so far as to give one a couple of good whacks. Nothing.

Muttering several foul words under his breath, the elder spared a glance at the door to the bathroom. He turned back the unyielding faucet and gave it a few more twists and turns. With no result, Edward shot the door a witheringly resentful glare before rising and swearing in aggravation. "Be right back." He stomped out of the bathroom. Puzzled, Alphonse watched him go. Several moments later, he heard his brother speaking through the wall.

Edward pushed open Mustang's door. It squeaked softly. The blond stuck his head into the bedroom before taking a few steps inside the dark room.

He wasn't entirely sure how to approach this.

He cleared his throat. "Um…" Then he knocked his fist against the wall. Again, harder. The man stirred in his bed and Edward ventured farther into the room. "Hey." He made no effort to keep his voice down as he repeated, "Hey, wake up." The guy rolled over away from Ed. "Hey, Mr. Mustang, or whatever, hey, wake up!"

The teen nudged the adult impatiently. A second later, Mustang's eyes snapped open and he grabbed the blond's wrist, holding it away from himself. He stared at Edward for a few softly panted breaths before his eyes showed recognition and he released his captive.

With a weary sigh, the man closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hand, sliding it downward until it pushed his hair up a bit. "What?" he asked with a sleep-ridden voice.

Getting his bearings back around him, Ed held his wrist protectively to his chest before scowling. "How do you work the water in the bathroom?"

One of Mustang's eyes reopened to peer at the boy. "The sink?"

"The bath."

"…Why?"

"'Cause I wanna run some water."

"Again, why?" The guy rubbed at his face.

The golden-eyed boy's tail twitched. "Al and I were gonna take a bath."

"Why?"

"Is that all you can say?"

"Until you give me something better, yes."

Ed huffed. "Then how 'bout you tell me how to turn on the water?"

"There's a trick to it. Turn the little…"—yawn—"…thingy on the spout."

"'Thingy on the spout'?"

"For God's sake," the man complained and forced himself out of his bed. "I'll show you if it'll give me peace."

"You don't have to do that!" Ed piped up a little too quickly.

Mustang shot the hybrid a suspicious look. "And why do you need to be bathed tonight?"

Edward shoved his hands into his pockets with a downward glance and angrily led the way to the lit bathroom, muttering, "Stop asking dumb questions." Once there, the teen pointed at the bathtub. "Now, fix it."

Ed turned to look at Roy, who was staring at Alphonse with a beleaguered expression on his face. The wet stain on the younger's pants was all-too visible. "You've got to be joking." Al hung his head. "I'm supposed to be watching over a couple o' criminals, not babysitting a bed-wetter."

"Hey! It's not his fault!" Ed reprimanded defensively, though, he didn't know who else he could possibly blame it on.

"I know, I know…" the man sighed wearily.

"Huh?"

"I said I know. There was something in his papers about it being a side-effect to stress or something like that." Ed was a little taken aback. Mustang smirked sardonically at Edward. "What? I thought you already knew everything about yourselves that you'd ever want or need to know."

The teenager pouted. "Just turn on the water." Roy obliged and reached over, twisting a nozzle on the bathtub's spout. Water came gushing out.

The only noise echoing in the bathroom was of hollow splashes drumming into the inside the tub…then water smacking against more liquid…water splashing mutedly…a squeak and pl-plip-plip-plip-plip-plip plip-plip-plip plip plip-plip plip-plip plip plip…plip…plip.

"There," Mustang finalized, standing up from the side of the tub. "Get undressed and hop in." The boys didn't move. "Go on."

"Not with you here," Edward resisted.

"Well, either you strip down and get in the tub, or you do so and just stand there, naked. Either way, I have to get your clothes so they can be washed and don't stink up my house."

Ed glanced over to a silent Al and shifted his foot. "Turn around, first."

"Kid, there's nothing you and your brother have that I don't– Er, that is… But I already know about the ears and tails an' stuff, so, unless there's something else you're hiding under–"

"There's nothing else!" asserted the teenager adamantly.

"Then hurry it up."

The older Elric begrudgingly turned his back and stripped down to his boxers. Refusing to go any farther than that, he proceeded to help his younger brother do the same. Al just sat there demurely, seeming to have chosen that pretending this wasn't happening was his best bet.

Edward handed Mustang the sodden clothes. "There."

"Come on, all the way," the colonel ordered intransigently. Edward flushed but complied. He shielded his little brother as he removed the last bit of Alphonse's clothing before standing and sliding of his boxers. His back was to Roy as he proffered the articles clothing. Ed could hear Mustang huff behind him as he took the things and set them down on the bathroom floor. Socked-feet took a step and a half toward him and then there was a hand stuck out in front of his own. "You're not bathing with that on." Ed looked down at the indicated hand. Lifting it up, he allowed the colonel to remove the bandage that was wrapped around his right hand. Cold fingers held it up for a few seconds after the bandage was off. Then Ed pulled it away to see for himself. It was scabbing over nicely but was still fairly swollen. "You probably ought to keep that dry for the time being."

Edward shrugged off the advice. "Alright, you can go now. I can do Al's on my own."

The pile of clothes was picked up off the floor as Mustang retreated. "Don't drown."

With that, the bathroom door was closed.

Chapter Text

Splish, splosh…drip-splash.

Alphonse closed his eyes as he felt the washcloth slide over his shoulder, warm water streaming down his bare back. It felt good.

Slosh.

He could hear Edward move behind him, causing the water to softly knock against the side of the tub. The cloth was back again, stroking down his back. Water dribbled.

"Yo'kay?" Ed spoke, voice quietly echoing.

"Huh?" asked Al, bowing his head and relaxing a little more.

"You've been really quiet since we came here. Are you alright? There's not anything wrong, is there? I mean other than…" The blond's strained voice threatened to break every now and then, but he hid it well.

"I'm fine. I just… I'm not entirely sure what to say to any of this. I know I shouldn't tell them anything important about us or anything like that…and so I decided I'd better just let you handle it for now."

He heard a small puff of pride from his older brother at that.

"C'mon, turn around," Ed told him, having finished with washing Al's back. More water sloshed as Al did his best to rotate around without bumping his sore ankle. Edward immediately brought his attention to the injury, inspecting it concernedly. He tentatively laid his fingers over the swollen area, ever cautious to any signs of discomfort from Al. The older boy gently ran the washcloth over his brother's ankle but abruptly ceased when Al flinched. "Sorry."

"What about you, Brother?" Al asked instead of responding to Edward's apology. "Are you alright?"

"O'course I am. I'm always alright." Ed smirked assuredly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just making sure…"

"Don't worry 'bout me, Al; I can take care of myself. You, too."

"Yeah," Al agreed. He sighed as Edward continued his ministrations. He never made a move to clean his own body; if his brother was willing to do all the work, Alphonse wasn't going to stop him. Besides, the older Elric generally preferred to care for his sibling versus Alphonse taking care of himself. Al guessed that it made Ed feel needed or important. His eyes drifted shut again as the warm cloth slid over his skin, cleaning off all the dirt and relaxing his muscles. There was a deep, somnolent contentedness reverberating through his chest.

Edward halted. "Al? Did you just…?"

Alphonse roused himself from his drifting state and looked at his sibling. "Hmm?"

"Oh, um…nothing." But the blond had a curious expression on his face as he peered at the darker haired boy. With a trickle of water, he raised the washcloth to Alphonse's neck, rubbing around the back of it. Al's mind drifted once again. Abruptly, the pleasant sensation ceased and Ed exclaimed, "You did!"

"I did what?" Al wanted to know.

Ed was looking at him with incredulity as he affirmed, "You just purred, Al."

Al didn't know whether to be ashamed or proud, alarmed or what at the declaration. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Well, no, at least…I don't think so. But…I didn't even know that you could. How long have you been able to…uh, purr?"

"I–I don't know," Al acquitted. "I've probably always been able to do it."

"Then how come I haven't ever heard you do it before?"

"Well, I've never really had a reason to– Uh, well, I have been happy, but not ever like that before. It's just, it felt really nice and all and we never got to take warm baths like this out on the streets…" Alphonse wished he hadn't been able to see the flash of hurt in his brother's eyes before the emotion was suppressed. Despite his attempt to amend his statement, it had still worked as an injury to Edward's pride. Al picked up the discarded washcloth floating in the water. It dripped as he rubbed it over the flesh his brother had not yet cleaned.

"So…what, you're happy here?"

"I dunno… Not really. But it's not horrible or anything. It's almost sort of nice… Mr. Mustang seems mean and rough but, now that I think about it, from the little I've seen, I don't think he's out to hurt us. He's just a mostly normal guy."

"You're too naïve for your own good, Al."

"I am not naïve! You're just paranoid!"

"'Paranoid'? How am I paranoid?"

"You never trust anybody. You're–"

"Hey, what're you doing?" Edward asked when Al started trying to wash his brother.

"The same thing you were doing for me." Alphonse reached out the dripping cloth again.

Ed shied away slightly, protesting, "I can do it myself, Al."

"Well, so can I, so hold still. Besides, you're supposed to keep one of your hands dry so there's only so much washing you can do." Edward relented, not putting up as much fuss as Alphonse had anticipated, and resigned himself to letting the younger Elric do as he pleased. "Like I said," Al resumed, "no one has seemed intent on harming us so far. I don't think it's fair to judge people so early on."

"Life's not fair," Ed said disdainfully. He sighed. "Besides, how would you know what everyone's like? You were asleep half the time."

"I was tired!" defended Alphonse. "You can hardly blame me. A lot happened and I'm surprised you stayed awake for so long."

"I don't wanna let my guard down. Can't risk it. I'm gonna take care of you, Al, and I'm not going to let these people get in my way."

Drip, drip. Splish.

"Alright…"

Slosh.

"I don't have any reason to put faith in these people, the Mustang guy definitely can't be trusted; he's almost cunning. The Hughes guy is too pushy and the other woman is dangerous, what with that gun. Even those doctors seemed fake; too nice."

"Brother?" Al questioned, rubbing the washcloth down Ed's arm. "Why can't we just trust people sometimes, instead of always being suspicious of everyone and everything?"

"We don't need them, Al. Why go through all the trouble of forming a relationship that probably won't last and could end up causing us trouble? We have each other, right?" Ed looked at Alphonse and the younger nodded. "Then that's all we need."

Al didn't nod this time. While he didn't like to admit it, his brother annoyed him sometimes. Just because Ed wasn't very good at accepting others into their lives, Al had to spend his in loneliness. They had each other…and nobody else.

Sensing Al's disquiet, Ed abandoned the topic. Instead, the golden-blond started looking around, upsetting the stillness of the tub's water in his search.

"What is it?" Al queried.

If we're gonna get cleaned up, we're gonna do it right. This guy's gotta have some soap or shampoo or something 'round here…"

Alphonse glanced around before pointing to a ledge in the wall above Edward's head. "There, I see some."

Ed compliantly rose, water splashing loudly as it cascaded off his body. The teen stood there for a moment, indecisive, while the fall of water ebbed off to a trickle. Then, turning back with a bottle in hand, Ed settled himself back into the water.

Alphonse raised his eyebrow, then wrinkled his nose at what the elder held. "That's girls' shampoo– Why does Mr. Mustang have girls' shampoo…?"

"Don't ask questions." The blond poured a small amount of it onto his fingers. But when he stretched out his hand to apply it to Al's hair, the younger scooted back.

"But I don't wanna smell like a girl!"

"I have to smell like it, too! And I have a better nose, so don't complain."

"Why would he own it in the first place?!"

"I told you I'm not going into that right now!"

"Doesn't he have anything else?" Al whined. "Surely Mr. Mustang doesn't use girlie shampoo!"

"We're not using the other stuff. I'd rather we smell like flowers than like that jerk!"

"But, Ed…!" At that moment, the older plopped his palm on top of Al's head. Alphonse made a disgusted face, his ears folding back in irritation. "Eww…"

Ed snickered.

The floor was slippery, splashed with water and a few suds. Edward adjusted the towel around his thin waist and surveyed the puddles he'd tracked over the tiled floor when he had looked for something with which to dry off. He bit his lip and then grabbed another towel from the cabinet, draping it over the mess. Using his foot, he proceeded to push the towel around in an attempt to soak up the moisture.

It didn't work as well as expected.

Al watched from his seated position on the edge of the bathtub. "It's not doing very much," he observed.

"I know, I know," Ed muttered. He moved forward and tried again, pressing harder with his foot, but the towel mostly bunched up around his ankle. At the failure, the blond contemptuously kicked the large drying cloth aside. He mumbled his angry frustration at the inanimate object as if it would repent. Then something donned on him and he didn't know quite what to do. He looked to Al. Perplexed, he flipped through possible courses of action, finding none suitable.

Al seemed to reach the same conclusion and asked, "Brother…what about our clothes?"

Edward flicked his dripping tail back and forth. He went over to the bathroom door, turned the knob, then opened it and peered outside, shivering with the chill of the house.

He became aware of a soft noise. Tilting his ears forward, the boy listened harder. There it was again: slow, steady, and soft. It was the sound of breathing.

Edward's heart seized up for a moment in panic before he caught sight of the figure leaned against a wall. Opening the door a bit farther to allow more light into the hall revealed that, true to suspicion, it was Colonel Mustang. He was propped against the wall, arms folded over his chest, head lolling to the side…sleeping. The blond had to take a moment to wonder how the man stayed upright. And why was he there? "Prob'ly to guard the door and make sure we don't escape," the teen guessed to himself, scornfully. "Hey," he spoke up, then cleared his throat. "Hey, ugly. Hello?" The chimera-hybrid was not about to leave the warm confines of the bathroom to venture out and risk repeating that night's earlier events.

Luckily, though, the ebony haired man cracked one eye open. "Yeah?" he managed. "You two fin'shed yet?"

"What about clothes?" Ed came back with, rather than answering the previous question.

"What about 'em?" Mustang yawned widely.

"We can't sleep in towels," the boy snapped.

"Right…" the sleepy man conceded. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned again. "I'll go an' get somethin'…" He stiffly pushed away from the wall and shuffled down the hallway. Ed watched him go, then ducked back into the bathroom. He gave Al a thumbs-up.

A couple minutes later brought footsteps, a turn of the doorknob, and Mustang stepping into the warm room. In his arms were some clothes: clothes that were definitely not the boys'.

"What're those?" Edward asked, pointing to the clothing.

"Clothes."

"What about our clothes?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, kid. Besides, you're not getting back into those things until they're washed." Edward glowered. "Listen, either wear these or go without. On second thought, no, put these on. I'm not about to have two naked chimera running around my house." With that, the man deposited the clothing into Ed's arms. But before Mustang stepped back, he sniffed, giving the boys a quizzical expression. "Were you using…?"

"We'd rather smell like flowers than like you," the teenager quipped.

Mustang smirked. "I'll have you know that women are crazy for that aroma."

Al's eyebrows rose. Edward flashed him a patronizing look. "I'd go crazy, too, if I had to breathe that stuff; you reek." He sniffed the shirts in his hands. "Ugh, even your clothes stink!"

Mustang rolled his eyes. "I just washed those."

"Then you must really smell if you can't even get the stench out by washing."

"Yeah, real mature," the man said with another eye roll. "Get dressed. I'll be out in the hall."

Edward stuck out his tongue at the man's retreating back. When the Flame Alchemist was gone, he turned back to Alphonse, handing over one of the two shirts he'd been given. "Here, put that on. I know it isn't much but it's all that pompous jerk'll give us.

Ed pulled his own oversized shirt over his head, tugging it across his still-damp skin. When he faced his little brother once more, Al was watching him, puzzled, shirt still held in his hands. "Brother, what do you mean? These don't smell bad."

Colonel Mustang remained out in the darkened hallway, waiting, trying not to doze off again. He could hear the muted voices of the boys conversing occasionally. After about a minute or two, the door opened with a slight squeak—he needed to remember to oil it—and out stepped the two chimera. The younger boy was wearing one of Roy's t-shirts while the older had one of Roy's old dress shirts. Knowing that he didn't have anything small enough to fit the boys, Mustang had gone in the opposite direction and had picked out the two largest shirts he could find. Accordingly, the shirts hung off the brothers, extending down a little below mid-thigh.

Ed stood in the doorway, framed in the bathroom light, and supporting his younger brother with one arm. Water droplets fell from their hair, making little darker splotches form on the pale fabric of the previously-dry clothing. Roy noticed that both the younger's ankle and the elder's hand had been re-bandaged and he had to assume that the boys had located his medicine cabinet. "Well?" he asked after a pause.

"Well what?" Roy asked.

"Well…? Don't you have anything else?" Ed gestured at the clothing.

"Did you need something else?" Roy knew perfectly well what the child was hinting at. Yet, in spite of how tired he was—or perhaps because of his weariness—Mustang didn't mind sparing a few moments to toy with the hotheaded boy. However, the blond seemed incapable to swallow his pride enough to actually ask the alchemist for anything. "Then go back to sleep. You need me to carry him?" Roy pointed at the younger hybrid.

Al barely made a sound of indecision before Ed jumped in with an aggressive, "No!"

"Geez, you'd think I'd asked if I could sell him on the black market," Mustang muttered disapprovingly. He stood there. The boys looked at him. He looked back at them. Then, seeming to realize that Roy wasn't going to say anything more, Ed turned and started hobbling down the hall with his brother. Mustang watched them slowly progress toward the guest bedroom. Once they'd gotten most of the way, he leaned over, switched off the bathroom light, then went downstairs. Upon his return, he saw that Ed was only just helping Al into the bed. Mustang went over and set a glass of water on the bedside table. "You're supposed to drink that."

"How am I supposed to know you didn't poison it?"

Roy rolled his eyes; this was getting ridiculous. "You don't, okay? So either drink it or don't. I honestly don't care. I'm just supposed to keep you alive. Though, you passing out from dehydration would probably make that job go a lot easier for me. So, are you going to drink it or not?" Ed shook his head determinedly. "Then I'm goin' to bed."

Mustang strode out of the room, pulling the door to behind him. However, tired as he was, something made Roy stop outside the doorway.

Why was he doing this? Why did he, of all the people in the world, have to take charge of these two chimera-freaks? Why? He was an alchemist, not a sitter. He was experienced in dealing with fire, not cat-hybrids. And he fought in a war…not with homeless teenagers.

A soft voice came from within the bedroom and Roy strained his ears to catch what was being said.

"Ed, aren't you going to drink the water?"

"No."

"But why not?"

"You know why not."

"Brother… Please drink it."

"Why?"

"You need it."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Yes you are." Silence. "Brother, I know you want to take care of me, but you have to take care of yourself, first. I know you don't trust anyone and I understand why…but I don't want you to get sick because of that. Please." Again, nothing…save for the faint scrape and clink of a glass being lifted from a wooden side table.

Chapter Text

Coal-black eyes snapped open the moment that Roy realized he was awake. Taking in his usual surroundings, he felt puzzled for a couple of seconds. When he did remember the cause for his subconscious agitation, he found himself hurriedly making his way down the hall to the spare bedroom. He grabbed onto the doorframe, pushing the door open and stuck his head in.

There, on the bed, sat the younger of the two boys. He was sitting upright and seemed to be lost in thought, but his attention was quickly drawn to the man who had just appeared.

"Where's the other one?" Roy demanded when he didn't immediately spot the elder hybrid.

Al directed his gaze down to the bed. "Asleep."

Going over to the bed, Mustang noticed the larger lump amid the mussed blankets. Further inspection revealed it to be the blond teenager, sound asleep, sprawled out on his back. "That's a relief," the man said to himself in reference to the fact that he could spend at least a bit of his morning without the annoyance of the moody teenager. Of course, there was still the younger one to deal with, but Al seemed much more mellow and temperate. Speaking of whom, Roy looked back to the honey-brown haired hybrid. "How long have you been awake?"

Al shrugged. "For about an hour or two."

Roy's eyes went to the clock on the wall and he internally cringed at realizing he'd slept in 'til after nine o'clock. "And you've just been sitting here." He was doubtful that the statement rang true, but the child nodded an affirmative. The alchemist raised an eyebrow but didn't question further. The boy shifted and gripped the oversized shirt he'd been sleeping in. He cast an uncertain glance up at Mustang. "What?"

"Uh," Al said, looking from his brother to the colonel.

"What?" the man questioned a bit more impatiently.

The chimera's gaze flicked calculatingly between Ed and Mustang before settling on the alchemist. "Do we get any food?"

Roy blinked. He hadn't thought of that. "Uh, sure, I guess. What types of things do you normally eat?"

"We usually eat whatever we can get our hands on." Roy wrinkled his nose. "No, no, not like that!" Al quickly amended. "Anything would be fine. We don't eat weird things, if that's what you're thinking. Just normal human food."

Human, huh, Roy mused internally. "Alright, whatever." He turned to leave.

"U–uh, thank you…" came an unexpected call.

Roy looked back at the two newcomers, the younger, more accepting one staring after him with the older, distrustful one fast asleep. "Right…" For brothers, they sure could be different.

Al could smell the eggs cooking. His stomach burned with hunger. He managed to stay in one spot for about ten minutes before he couldn't bear it any longer. It smelled so good.

With a guilty sidelong glance at his brother, the younger slid off the bed and cautiously lowered himself to the ground. Alphonse lightly set his bandaged foot down and applied some pressure. He winced when the pain made itself known once more. Although he couldn't walk on it, he could still probably get around if he had a little support. Again, he looked at his brother, feeling guilty. However, he was famished and there was food downstairs. The boy hadn't eaten since the evening of two days ago, with the exception of the glasses of water the Rockbells had given him. And, contrary to how his older brother thought, Alphonse didn't believe that this Mustang guy was trying to harm them; he didn't have any incentives. Yes, Al knew that he was commonly too trusting with other people, but that small fact seemed insignificant when compared to his current hunger. His stomach hurt from lack of food. Though that wasn't an uncommon experience for the boys to feel, it was still a miserable sensation.

Without another noise, Al limped over to the doorway and supported himself against the beige wall and proceeded to make his way down the hallway. The house was unfamiliar to him. He passed two doors—one the bathroom, the other possibly Mustang's own room—before he arrived at the top of the stairs. Here came the hard part.

Grabbing hold of the banister rail, the child leaned most of his weight on it and hopped one step down. Then another…and another. By the time he had reached the bottom of all sixteen steps, he was almost out of breath. To his right was the living room but before him was the kitchen, out of which the intoxicating aroma was originating.

He limped forward.

Alphonse spotted Mustang before the man noticed him. The adult was standing at the counter, trying to scrape some semi-burnt eggs out of a frying pan and onto a plate. However, when he spotted the youngster, Mustang jolted in surprise, letting the pan slip from his hand, but managing to jump back before it clattered noisily to the floor.

"What are you doing down here?!" the alchemist snapped before retrieving his pan.

"You didn't say we had to stay upstairs," Al defended.

"That doesn't mean you can go wandering around my house."

"I wasn't wandering, I just came down here!"

Mustang sighed exasperatedly, depositing the skillet in the sink. "Fine, here. Don't complain." With that, the raven haired man set the plate of steaming eggs on the kitchen table.

Al's eyes went wide and his mouth started to water. "Those're for me…?"

"Yeah," Mustang said with a shrug. He went over and started scrubbing out the skillet. Alphonse reverently went over to the plate, almost unwilling to believe it was real. Then he hastily wiped away the strand of that drool that tried to escape down his chin. In that moment, Colonel Mustang was one of his favorite persons on the planet.

The child swiftly reached out and grasped the plate of food, grabbing a handful of eggs and promptly dropping it at the sudden burning sensation. "Ah!" he exclaimed softly before trying again, picking the eggs apart with his fingers and frantically blowing on them.

A thump came from upstairs. It smelled so good…

"Al!" The call was frantic, urgent. "Al!" Ed's voice was accompanied by the sound of running feet, which quickly and clumsily hurried down the stairs. Alphonse turned in time to see his brother stumble into the kitchen, eyes wide. "Al! What're you doing?!" came the demand when Ed spotted Al. Next, his eyes fell on Roy Mustang and his body tensed up. "You–!"

Al's own eyes widened with concern when he saw the older boy grimace, his face suddenly taking on a distant expression. Edward staggered sideways, placed a hand on the wall, and then slid down unsteadily to his knees. "Ed!"

Mustang got there first. However, Al noted, the man's tone was filled more with exasperation than worry as he asked what was wrong.

"Nnnothin', Al… Just…stood up too fast." The blond's eyes were wandering up somewhere near the ceiling. "'M fine, just gimmie a sec…"

Alphonse managed to get over to the two and crouched down awkwardly. "Brother, are you okay?"

Edward winced and took a steadying breath, then shook his head a little before blinking his eyes a few times and saying, "Yeah, fine. Al, what were you doing?"

"Nothing. But he had food and–"

"So you were just going to eat it?"

"He was giving me breakfast."

"Al, you can't trust this guy."

Mustang broke in, justifying himself with, "Hey, I was just giving him something to eat."

"Don't!" Ed glared at the man. "We don't need your food!"

"Yes, you do. Otherwise you'll starve."

"What's your point?"

"Brother," Alphonse tried to calm him, but the two older males were wrapped up in their argument.

Moving to higher ground, the colonel straightened and returned to his place by the sink and his task of cleaning his skillet. "Because then you'd die."

Edward seemed to take the move as a challenge and forced himself to his feet. "What do you care?" His legs were trembling beneath him and his face was pale. Al grabbed onto his elbow to lend support but the elder slid his arm out of the hold, instead opting to steady himself against the wall.

"I don't. I was just stuck in charge of taking care of you two, not caring about you. The only reason I want to keep you relatively healthy is so that maybe that'll get you off my hands sooner and because that's what I'm supposed to be doing. Part of that job means feeding you."

"No!" Ed's voice was cracking again.

"You have to have food to survive. Why else do you think you're practically falling over yourself? You need to eat."

"We don't need to eat food if it's been poisoned!"

Mustang slammed the pan into the sink, making Al jump at the loud noise. Obsidian eyes flicked to Edward. "Enough with the poison, alright? The food is not poisoned, I didn't put anything into it, and I would not have any reason to! I'm trying to keep you alive. If I'd wanted you dead, I could have done something already!"

"That's what you'd want us to think!" With every shouted word, Ed's voice became rougher. He took a few steps forward, standing as tall as he could. His tail was puffed up.

At last, Al had had enough. "Stop!" It came out as a mixture of an order and a plea, but it got the other two to cease abruptly, Mustang's mouth still open to form a retort. Eyes were directed at the youngest as he gripped the shirt he was wearing in frustration. "You're not helping anything." The alchemist closed his mouth but Edward still looked fired up for an argument. Al was aware of this. Feeling a little guilty, though knowing it was for the best, he played the pity card. "You're just making a lot of noise and it's giving me a headache."

Like magic, the elder Elric instantly backed down. "Sorry, Al."

"That's alright. I'm sorry for worrying you."

Alphonse was surprised at how well that had gone over, until his brother responded, "It's okay. But you can't eat any of his food." Al's heart sank. His stomach clenched with yearning. He was sure that his face painted a perfect portrait of his dismay because Ed quietly consoled, "We can't trust him. You know that, right?"

Al tried to nod…but he couldn't. "Br–Brother…I'm hungry…" It was true, so very true. And, as much as he didn't want to sound like he was whining or complaining—Edward knew best, after all—Al also wanted to eat. He wanted food. He wanted to chew it up, taste it, swallow it. He wanted to fill the void in his stomach that hadn't been filled in far too long. He wanted the familiar pain of hunger go away. He needed food.

And it was sitting right there; he could smell it, turn his head and see it. His fingers still stung a little from trying to pick the hot eggs up too soon.

He wanted to eat so badly!

Al couldn't stop the heat forming around his eyes, nor the tightening of his throat. But he squeezed his jaw tight before a tremor could make itself known. He had been so close, had almost gotten to taste it…but then Ed said no. Edward had forbidden it.

Hurriedly, the blond amended, "Hey, Al. It's alright, I'll find you something. I promise."

Alphonse almost wished he could argue back, insist that he be able to eat what had been offered to him. However, he wouldn't; he would listen to his older brother…because Ed always knew best. Edward always had good reasons for what he did, always took good care of Al, protected him, was always there for him, and always stood strong. Edward was strong—prideful, but strong, nonetheless. So Al would be, too. He would pretend he could ignore the sucking, empty feel of his stomach. And he would trust his brother.

He looked into Edward's golden eyes—they were soft and searching, asking for consent—and nodded. After all, Al wasn't going through any discomfort that Ed himself wasn't enduring.

"Okay," the younger accepted.

Ed smiled encouragingly, reassuringly. "You'll see, I'll take care of it."

Those five words set Al's heart to rest. Because, as many times as he had heard his older brother utter that phrases through the years, it always rang true.

That was it. He gave up, Mustang told himself. But it wasn't true. It wasn't that simple; he couldn't just give up and hand his charges over to someone else, no matter how much he wanted to.

He was stuck with them. And they were stuck with him. Joy.

He watched the boys converse for a bit—they seemed to have kicked him out of the conversation completely—before he finished cleaning out the abandoned skillet. Mustang noticed he now had a nice dent in the inside of his sink from where he'd hit it with the pan. Lovely.

He was in a bad mood when he exited the kitchen. Ed's and Al's voices had grown softer and Roy hadn't been too interested in eavesdropping in their slightly emotional and likely boring conversation. Besides, as weak as the older brother appeared, he obviously didn't plan on accepting help anytime soon.

So Roy wouldn't offer it.

He'd made that mistake once and gotten his hand bitten for it—figuratively, of course, but he wouldn't put it past them to make that literal. They were animals, after all.

Yet, in spite of that, Mustang couldn't deny the human emotions the children seemed to display: the uncertainty and distrust, determination, desire, insurmountable pride from the elder, childishness of the younger…the devotion between them.

Great, this train of thought was making the colonel out to be the bad guy. And he wasn't. He was just a victim in this. No. Not a victim; that made him seem weak. Roy was strong. He had fought in a war. The boys were the weak ones.

…They were weak? Since his pride refuted the possibility of the alchemist being the lesser in regard to strength, that position must fall to his two charges. That paradox of unwanted viewpoints either pushed the role of inferiority, or the role of a protector onto his shoulders.

This was too confusing. He needed to give his mind some time to construct better arguments in this matter, because he knew he was in the right. But anything he pondered at the moment kept shoving the hybrids into the light of innocence. And they were not innocent. Not with how they had treated him. He had given them a bed, gotten up to help them in the middle of the night, offered them food…and they'd shown no appreciation. He deserved better than that. To sound childish, it wasn't fair.

But again, Mustang felt like he was victimizing himself!

Not about to go down that road again, Roy went up to his room and retrieved the papers from the Rockbells and quickly returned to the living room. He kept an ear out for activity in the kitchen. The pair of pickpockets obviously wouldn't partake of the meal he'd offered them, but he'd leave them in there with it available. Maybe they'd eat it without him around—maybe not. Nevertheless they were hungry, so there was a possibility that they'd try to sneak some other food from his cupboards. That wasn't necessarily a good thing, but they needed to eat, so, if it happened, he'd turn a blind eye. If nothing else, being alone might settle them down a bit.

Wait, now Roy sounded like he was concerned with it.

However, half an hour of reading the doctors' papers only brought more frustration, as the words on the pages seemed to be a tribute to pitying the hybrids. Roy kept having to read about this injury, that health concern, how he should care for them. It had things like:

Being what they are, you can expect the patients to feel intimidated by this change of circumstances. Again, patience would be the best course of action. To be–

"'Intimidated'," Roy scoffed. The thieves didn't need and wouldn't stand for that type of pity. Why did anyone need to be pitied in the first place? Nobody was a victim here.

Well, because that would simply put the alchemist on the same level as the boys, and they were not equals.

Roy looked up. When had it gotten so quiet?

Trepidation flowing through his veins, the man rose from his seat on the couch and ventured into the kitchen. And there, on the floor, were the boys, asleep. Slumped against the wall, their heads were leaned against each other's shoulders. On their faces were looks that were the closest thing to peaceful that Roy had ever beheld coming from them.

The nice part was that they weren't causing any more trouble. The not nice part was that they'd crashed in his kitchen floor and now Mustang needed to find a way to remove them…without waking them. Wonderful.

The colonel reached for the younger of the two, pulling him away. In retrospect, Roy would realize that this was a bad idea. As the man slid the copper haired youth from his position with the blond, Ed woke up. Panicked eyes flashing after the two seconds it took him to grasp the situation, the older teen promptly pitched forward and grabbed his brother from Mustang.

"Stop it! What are you doin–?" And with that, Ed's voice broke. Mustang recoiled from the reaction and the younger sibling jolted awake, but the blond didn't make another sound.

"Br–Brother?!"

Still pushing a disconcerted Al behind his arm protectively, Ed glared at Mustang, ears laid back. However, the glare struggled to stay in place as bewilderment flitted over the teen's face, softening the expression. He grabbed at his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak. The only sound that came out was a strained rasp. The blond coughed, covering his mouth. The other boy was instantly there, trying to talk to his brother, yet Ed answered none of the worried questions flying from the younger's lips. He just tried to speak, failed, and coughed harder.

Mustang didn't know whether to be concerned or not…or how to be concerned if he opted for that choice. What was he supposed to do, pat the kid on the back? Al had that covered. Would the teenager lash out again if Mustang tried to provide any assistance? Would Riza shoot him if the boy died?

Knock-knock-knock.

Roy halted his thoughts when he heard that. Over the sound of the chimera's coughing, it came again.

Knock-knock.

Luckily, the coughs subsided to rough, yet unstrained, breathing and Mustang spared the kids a quick glance before rising. Well, the boy wasn't dying; at least, not at the moment. That was a plus. Then again…

The pounding from his front door came once more and the black haired man grimaced. Perfect, just perfect.